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il^attjaniel  i&atDtt)orne'0  Works* 

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THE  HOUSE 
OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES 

BY   NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE 

WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION 

BY  GEORGE   PARSONS 

LATHROP 


SALEM  EDITION 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANV 

1893 


Copyright,  1851, 
Bt  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE, 

Copyright,  1879, 
By  rose  HAWTHORNE  LATHROP. 

Copyright,  1883, 
Bt  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  00 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mens.,  U.S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &.  Co. 


PREFACE. 


HEN  a  writer  calls  his  work  a  Romance,  it  need 
hardly  be  observed  that  he  wishes  to  claim  a 
certain  latitude,  both  as  to  its  fashion  and  ma- 
terial, which  he  would  not  have  felt  himself  entitled  to 
assume,  had  he  professed  to  be  writing  a  Novel.  The 
latter  form  of  composition  is  presumed  to  aim  at  a  very 
minute  fidelity,  not  merely  to  the  possible,  but  to  the 
probable  and  ordinary  course  of  man's  experience.  The 
former  —  while,  as  a  work  of  art,  it  must  rigidly  subject 
itself  to  laws,  and  while  it  sins  unpardonably  so  far  as  it 
may  swerv^e  aside  from  the  truth  of  the  human  heart  — 
has  fairly  a  right  to  present  that  truth  under  circum- 
stances, to  a  great  extent,  of  the  writer's  own  choosing 
or  creation.  If  he  think  fit,  also,  he  may  so  manage  his 
atmospherical  medium  as  to  bring  out  or  mellow  the 
lights,  and  deepen  and  enrich  the  shadows,  of  the  picture. 
He  will  be  wise,  no  doubt,  to  make  a  very  moderate  use 
of  the  privileges  here  stated,  and,  especially,  to  mingle  the 
Marvellous  rather  as  a  slight,  delicate,  and  evanescent 
flavor,  than  as  any  portion  of  the  actual  substance  of  the 


2056139 


VI  PEEFACE. 

dish  offered  to  the  public.  He  can  hardly  be  said,  how- 
ever, to  commit  a  literary  crime,  even  if  he  disregard 
this  caution. 

In  the  present  work,  the  author  has  proposed  to  him- 
self—  but  with  what  success,  fortunately,  it  is  not  for 
him  to  judge  —  to  keep  undeviatingly  within  his  immu- 
nities. The  point  of  view  in  which  this  tale  comes 
under  the  Romantic  definition  lies  in  the  attempt  to  con- 
nect a  bygone  time  with  the  very  present  that  is  flitting 
away  from  us.  It  is  a  legend,  prolonging  itself,  from  an 
epoch  now  gray  m  the  distance,  down  into  our  own  broad 
dayhght,  and  bringing  along  with  it  some  of  its  legen- 
dary mist,  which  the  reader,  according  to  his  pleasure, 
may  either  disregard,  or  allow  it  to  float  almost  imper- 
ceptibly about  the  characters  and  events  for  the  sake  of 
a  picturesque  effect.  The  narrative,  it  may  be,  is  woven 
of  so  humble  a  texture  as  to  require  this  advantage,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  to  render  it  the  more  difficult  of  attain- 
ment. 

Many  wiiters  lay  very  great  stress  upon  some  definite 
moral  purpose,  at  wliich  they  profess  to  aim  their  works. 
Not  to  be  deficient  in  this  particular,  the  author  has  pro- 
vided himself  with  a  moral ;  —  the  truth,  namely,  that 
the  wrong-doing  of  one  generation  lives  into  the  succes- 
sive ones,  and,  divesting  itself  of  every  temporary  advan- 
tage, becomes  a  pure  and  uncontrollable  mischief ;  and  he 
would  feel  it  a  singular  gratification,  if  this  romance  might 
effectually  convince  mankind  —  or,  indeed,  any  one  man 
—  of  the  folly  of  tumblmg  down  an  avalanche  of  ill- 
gotten  gold,  or  real  estate,  on  the  heads  of  an  unfortu- 
nate posterity,  thereby  to  maim  and  crush  them,  until  the 


PREFACE.  VU 

accumulated  mass  shall  be  scattered  abroad  in  its  original 
atoms.  In  good  faith,  however,  he  is  not  sufficiently 
imaginative  to  flatter  himself  vv^ith  the  slightest  hope  of 
this  kind.  When  romances  do  really  teach  anything,  or 
produce  any  eifective  operation,  it  is  usually  through  a 
far  more  subtile  process  than  the  ostensible  one.  The 
author  has  considered  it  hardly  worth  his  while,  therefore, 
relentlessly  to  impale  the  story  with  its  moral,  as  with  an 
iron  rod,  —  or,  rather,  as  by  sticking  a  pin  through  a  but- 
terfly, —  thus  at  once  depriving  it  of  life,  and  causing  it 
to  stiffen  in  an  ungainly  and  unnatural  attitude.  A  high 
truth,  indeed,  fairly,  finely,  and  skilfully  wrought  out, 
brightening  at  every  step,  and  crowning  the  final  devel- 
opment of  a  work  of  fiction,  may  add  an  artistic  glory, 
but  is  never  any  truer,  and  seldom  any  more  evident,  at 
the  last  page  than  at  the  first. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  choose  to  assign  an  actual 
locaKty  to  the  imaginary  events  of  this  narrative.  If 
permitted  by  the  historical  connection,  —  which,  though 
slight,  was  essential  to  his  plan,  —  the  author  would  very 
willingly  have  avoided  anything  of  this  nature.  Not  to 
speak  of  other  objections,  it  exposes  the  romance  to  an 
inflexible  and  exceedingly  dangerous  species  of  criticism, 
by  bringing  his  fancy-pictures  almost  into  positive  contact 
with  the  realities  of  the  moment.  It  has  been  no  part 
of  his  object,  however,  to  describe  local  maimers,  nor  in 
any  way  to  meddle  with  the  characteristics  of  a  commu- 
nity for  whom  he  cherishes  a  proper  respect  and  a  natural 
regard.  He  trusts  not  to  be  considered  as  unpardonably 
offending,  by  laying  out  a  street  that  infringes  upon  no- 
body's private   rights,  and  appropriating  a  lot  of  land 


VIU  PEEFACE. 

which  had  no  visible  owner,  and  building  a  house,  of  ma- 
terials long  in  use  for  constructing  castles  in  the  air.  The 
personages  of  the  tale  —  though  they  give  themselves  out 
to  be  of  ancient  stabiUty  and  considerable  prominence  — 
are  really  of  the  author's  own  making,  or,  at  all  events, 
of  his  own  mixing ;  their  virtues  can  shed  no  lustre,  nor 
their  defects  redound,  in  the  remotest  degree,  to  the  dis- 
credit of  the  venerable  town  of  which  they  profess  to  be 
inhabitants.  He  would  be  glad,  therefore,  if — especially 
in  the  quarter  to  which  he  alludes  —  the  book  may  be 
read  strictly  as  a  Romance,  having  a  great  deal  more  to 
do  with  the  clouds  overhead  than  with  any  portion  of  the 
actual  soil  of  the  County  of  Essex. 

LiNOi,  January  27,  1851. 


mmi*?^ 


INTRODUCTOEY  NOTE. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

In  September  of  the  year  during  the  February  ot 
which  Hawthorne  had  completed  "  The  Scarlet  Letter," 
he  began  "  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables."  Mean- 
while he  had  removed  from  Salem  to  Lenox,  in  Berk- 
shire County,  Massachusetts,  where  he  occupied  with  his 
family  a  small  red  wooden  house,  still  standing  at  the 
date  of  this  edition  [1883]  near  the  Stockbridge  Bowl. 

"I  shan't  have  the  new  story  ready  by  November," 
he  explained  to  his  publisher,  on  the  1st  of  October, 
•*  for  I  am  never  good  for  anything  in  the  literary  way 
till  after  the  first  autumnal  frost,  which  has  somewhat 
such  an  effect  on  my  imagination  that  it  does  on  the 
foliage  here  about  me  —  multiplying  and  brightening 
its  hues."  But  by  vigorous  application  he  was  able  to 
complete  the  new  work  about  the  middle  of  the  January 
following. 

Since  research  has  disclosed  the  manner  in  which  the 
romance  is  interwoven  with  incidents  from  the  history 
of  the  Hawthorne  family ,  *'  The  House  of  the  Sevea 
Gables  "  has  acquired  an  interest  apart  from  that  by 


X  INTKODUCTORY    NOTE. 

which  it  first  appealed  to  the  public.  John  Hathorne 
(as  the  name  was  then  spelled),  the  great-grandfather 
of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  was  a  magistrate  at  Salem  iu 
the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  officiated 
at  the  famous  trials  for  witchcraft  held  there.  It  is  of 
record  that  he  used  peculiar  severity  towards  a  certain 
woman  who  was  among  the  accused  ;  and  the  husband 
af  this  woman  prophesied  that  God  would  take  revenge 
apon  his  wife's  persecutors.  This  circumstance  doubt- 
less furnished  a  hint  for  that  piece  of  tradition  in  the 
book  which  represents  a  Pyncheon  of  a  former  gen- 
eration as  having  persecuted  one  Maule,  who  declared 
that  God  would  give  his  enemy  "  blood  to  drink."  It 
became  a  conviction  with  the  Hawthorne  family  that  a 
eurse  had  been  pronounced  upon  its  members,  which 
contiimed  in  force  in  the  time  of  the  romancer  ;  a  con- 
viction perhaps  derived  from  the  recorded  prophecy  of 
the  injured  woman's  husband  just  mentioned  ;  and,  here 
again,  we  have  a  correspondence  with  Maule's  male- 
diction in  the,  story.  Furthermore,  there  occurs  in  the 
''  American  Note-Books  "  (August  27,  1837)  a  remi- 
niscence of  the  author's  family,  to  the  following  effect. 
Philip  English,  a  character  well  known  in  early  Salem 
innals,  was  among  those  who  suffered  from  John  Ha- 
thorne's  magisterial  harshness,  and  he  maintained  in 
consequence  a  lasting  feud  with  the  old  Puritan  official. 
But  at  his  death  English  left  daughters,  one  of  whom  is 
said  to  have  married  the  son  of  Justice  John  Hathorne, 
?rhom  English  had  declared  he  would  never  forgive.    It 


INTRODUCTOKY    NOTE.  XI 

is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  how  clearly  this  fore- 
shadows the  filial  union  of  those  hereditary  foes,  the 
Pyncheons  and  Maules,  through  the  marriage  of  Phoebe 
and  Holgrave.  The  romance,  however,  describes  the 
Maules  as  possessing  some  of  the  traits  known  to  have 
been  characteristic  of  the  Hav^^thornes  :  for  example, 
'<  so  long  as  any  of  the  race  were  to  be  found,  they  had 
been  marked  out  from  other  men  —  not  strikingly,  nor 
as  with  a  sharp  line,  but  with  an  effect  that  was  felt 
rather  than  spoken  of  —  by  an  hereditary  characteristic 
of  reserve."  Thus,  while  the  general  suggestion  of  the 
Hawthorne  line  and  its  fortunes  was  followed  in  the 
romance,  the  Pyncheons  taking  the  place  of  the  author's 
family,  certain  distinguishing  marks  of  the  Hawthornes 
were  assigned  to  the  imaginary  Maule  posterity. 

There  are  one  or  two  other  points  which  indicate 
Hawthorne's  method  of  basing  his  compositions,  the 
result  in  the  main  of  pure  invention,  on  the  solid  ground 
of  particular  facts.  Allusion  is  made,  in  the  first  chap- 
ter of  the  "Seven  Gables,"  to  a  grant  of  lands  in 
Waldo  County,  Maine,  owned  by  the  Pyncheon  family. 
In  the  "  American  Note-Books "  there  is  an  entry, 
dated  August  12,  1837,  which  speaks  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary general,  Knox,  and  his  land-grant  in  Waldo 
County,  by  virtue  of  which  the  owner  had  hoped  to 
establish  an  estate  oii  the  English  plan,  with  a  tenantry 
to  make  it  profitable  for  him.  An  incident  of  much 
greater  importance  in  the  story  is  the  supposed  murder 
of  one  of  the  Pyncheons  by  his  nephew,  to  whom  we  are 


Xll  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

introduced  as  Clifford  Pyncheon.  In  all  probability 
Hawthorne  connected  with  this,  in  his  mind,  the  murder 
of  Mr.  White,  a  wealthy  gentleman  of  Salem,  killed  by 
a  man  whom  his  nephew  had  hired.  This  took  place  a 
few  years  after  Hawthorne's  graduation  from  college. 
and  was  one  of  the  celebrated  cases  of  the  day,  Daniel 
Webster  taking  part  prominently  in  the  trial.  But  it 
should  be  observed  here  that  such  resemblances  as 
these  between  sundry  elements  in  the  work  of  Haw- 
thorne's fancy  and  details  of  reality  are  only  fragmen- 
tary, and  are  rearranged  to  suit  the  author's  purposes. 

In  the  same  way  he  has  made  his  description  of  Hep- 
zibah  Pyncheon's  seven-gabled  mansion  conform  so 
nearly  to  several  old  dwellings  formerly  or  still  extant 
in  Salem,  that  strenuous  efforts  have  been  made  to  fix 
upon  some  one  of  them  as  the  veritable  edifice  of  the 
romance.  A  paragraph  in  the  opening  chapter  has 
perhaps  assisted  this  delusion  that  there  must  have 
been  a  single  original  House  of  the  Seven  Gables, 
framed  by  flesh  -  and  -  blood  carpenters  ;  for  it  runs 
thus  :  — 

"  Familiar  as  it  stands  in  the  writer's  recollection  — 
tor  it  has  been  an  object  of  curiosity  with  him  from 
boyhood,  both  as  a  specimen  of  the  best  and  stateli- 
est architecture  of  a  long-past  epoch,  and  as  the  scene 
of  events  more  full  of  interest  perhaps  than  those 
of  a  gray  feudal  castle  —  familiar  as  it  stands,  in  its 
rusty  old  age,  it  is  therefore  only  the  more  difficult  to 
imagine  the  bright  novelty  with  which  it  first  caught 
the  sunshine." 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  Xll] 

Hundreds  of  pilgrims  annually  visit  a  house  in  Salem, 
belonging  to  one  branch  of  the  Ingersoll  family  of  that 
place,  which  is  stoutly  maintained  to  have  been  the 
model  for  Hawthorne's  visionary  dwelling.  Others 
have  supposed  that  the  now  vanished  house  of  the  iden- 
tical Philip  English,  whose  blood,  as  we  have  already 
noticed,  became  mingled  with  that  of  the  Hawthornes, 
supplied  the  pattern  ;  and  still  a  third  building,  known 
as  the  Curwen  mansion,  has  been  declared  the  only 
genuine  establishment.  Notwithstanding  persistent 
popular  belief,  the  authenticity  of  all  these  must  posi- 
tively be  denied ;  although  it  is  possible  that  isolated 
reminiscences  of  all  three  may  have  blended  with  the 
ideal  image  in  the  mind  of  Hawthorne.  He,  it  will  be 
seen,  remarks  in  the  Preface,  alluding  to  himself  in  the 
third  person,  that  he  trusts  not  to  be  condemned  for 
"  laying  out  a  street  that  infringes  upon  nobody's  pri- 
vate rights  .  .  .  and  building  a  house  of  materials  long 
in  use  for  constructing  castles  in  the  air.'^  More  than 
this,  he  stated  to  persons  still  living  that  the  house  of 
the  romance  was  not  copied  from  any  actual  edifice, 
but  was  simply  a  general  reproduction  of  a  style  of  ar- 
chitecture belonging  to  colonial  days,  examples,  of  which 
survived  into  the  period  of  his  youth,  but  have  since 
been  radically  modified  or  destroyed.  Here,  as  else- 
where, he  exercised  the  liberty  of  a  creative  mind  to 
heighten  the  probability  of  his  pictures  without  confin- 
ing himself  to  a  literal  description  of  something  he 
had  seen. 


XIV  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

AVliile  Hawthorne  remained  at  Lenox,  and  during 
the  composition  of  this  romance,  various  other  literary 
personages  settled  or  stayed  for  a  time  in  the  vicinity  ; 
among  them,  Herman  Melville,  whose  intercourse  Haw- 
thorne greatly  enjoyed,  Henry  James,  Sr.,  Doctor 
Holmes,  J.  T.  Headley,  James  Russell  Lowell,  Edwin 
P.  Whipple,  Frederika  Bremer,  and  J.  T.  Fields ;  so 
that  there  was  no  lack  of  intellectual  society  in  the 
midst  of  the  beautiful  and  inspiring  mountain  scenery 
of  the  place.  *'  In  the  afternoons,  nowadays,"  he  re- 
cords, shortly  before  beginning  the  work,  "  this  valley 
in  which  I  dwell  seems  like  a  vast  basin  filled  with 
golden  sunshine  as  with  wine  ; "  and,  happy  in  the 
companionship  of  his  wife  and  their  three  children,  he 
led  a  simple,  refined,  idyllic  life,  despite  the  restrictions 
of  a  scanty  and  uncertain  income.  A  letter  written  by 
Mrs.  Hawthorne,  at  this  time,  to  a  member  of  her 
family,  gives  incidentally  a  glimpse  of  the  scene,  which 
may  properly  find  a  place  here.  She  says  :  "I  delight 
to  think  that  you  also  can  look  forth,  as  I  do  now,  upon 
a  broad  valley  and  a  fine  amphitheatre  of  hills,  and  are 
about  to  watch  the  stately  ceremony  of  the  sunset  from 
your  piazza.  But  you  have  not  tliis  lovely  lake,  nor,  I 
suppose,  the  delicate  purple  mist  which  folds  these 
slumbering  mountains  in  airy  veils.  Mr.  Hawthorne 
has  been  lying  down  in  the  sunshine,  slightly  fleckered 
with  the  shadows  of  a  tree,  and  Una  and  Julian  have 
been  making  him  look  like  the  mighty  Pan,  by  cover- 
ing his  chin  and  breast  with   long   grass-blades,  that 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  XT 

looked  like  a  verdant  aud  venerable  beard."  The 
pleasantness  and  peace  of  his  surroundings  and  of  his 
modest  home  in  Lenox  may  be  taken  into  account  as 
harmonizing  with  the  mellow  serenity  of  the  romance 
then  produced.  Of  the  work,  when  it  appeared  in  the 
early  spring  of  1851,  he  wrote  to  Horatio  Bridge  these 
words,  now  published  for  the  first  time  :  — 

"  '  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,'  in  my  opinionj 
is  better  than  '  The  Scarlet  Letter  ; '  but  I  should  not 
wonder  if  I  had  refined  upon  the  principal  character  a 
little  too  much  for  popular  appreciation,  nor  if  the  ro- 
mance of  the  book  should  be  somewhat  at  odds  with 
the  humble  and  familiar  scenery  in  which  I  mvest  it. 
But  I  feel  that  portions  of  it  are  as  good  as  anything 
I  can  hope  to  write,  and  the  publisher  speaks  encour- 
agingly of  its  success." 

From  England,  especially,  came  many  warm  expres- 
sions of  praise,  —  a  fact  which  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  in  a 
private  letter,  commented  on  as  the  fulfilment  of  a 
possibility  which  Hawthorne,  writing  in  boyhood  to  his 
mother,  had  looked  forward  to.  He  had  asked  her  if 
she  would  not  like  him  to  become  an  author  and  have 
his  books  read  in  England. 

G.  P.  L. 


CONTENTS. 


Pagb 

I.  The  Old  Pyncheon  Family      ...  11 

II.  The  Little  Shop-Window     ...  39 

III.  The  First  Customer 53 

IV.  A  Day  behind  the  Counter         .        .  69 

V.  May  and  November 85 

VI.  Maule's  Well 102 

VII.  The  Guest .115 

VIII.  The  Pyncheon  of  To-day     .        .  134 

IX.  Clifford  and  Phcebe         ....  154 

X.  The  Pyncheon  Garden          .        .        .  168 

XI.  The  Arched  Window        ....  183 

XII.  The  Daguerreotypist    ....  199 

XIII.  Alice  Pyncheon 215 

XIV.  Phcebe's  Good-by 241 

XV.  The  Scowl  and  Smile       ....  254 


X\111  CONTENTS. 

XVI.  Clifford's  Chamber 273 

XVII.  The  Flight  of  two  Owls     .        .        .  287 

XVIII.  Governor  Pyncheon 303 

XIX.  Alice's  Posies        .        .        .        .        .  321 

XX.  The  Flower  of  Eden        .        .        .        .339 

XXI.  The  Departure 350 


mmy'mmmm 


THE 


HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY. 


^^1  ALr~WA Y  down  a  by-street  of  one  of  our  New 
WM  England  towns  stands  a  rusty  wooden  house, 
JImI  with  seven  acutely  peaked  gables,  facmg  towards 
various  points  of  the  compass,  and  a  huge,  clustered 
chimney  in  the  midst.  The  street  is  Pyncheon  Street ; 
the  house  is  the  old  Pyncheon  House  ;  and  an  elm-tree, 
of  wide  circumference,  rooted  before  the  door,  is  familiar 
to  every  town-born  child  by  the  title  of  the  Pyncheon 
Elm.  On  my  occasional  visits  to  the  town  aforesaid,  I 
seldom  failed  to  turn  down  Pyncheon  Street,  for  the  sake 
of  passing  through  the  shadow  of  these  two  antiquities, 
—  the  great  elm-tree  and  the  weather-beaten  edifice. 

The  aspect  of  the  venerable  mansion  has  always  affect- 
ed me  Hke  a  human  countenance,  bearing  the  traces  not 
merely  of  outward  storm  and  sunshine,  but  expressive, 
also,  of  the  long  lapse  of  mortal  Ufe,  and  accompanying 
vicissitudes  that  have  passea  within.  Were  these  to  be 
worthily  recounted,  they  would  form  a  narrative  of  no 


12    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

small  interest  and  instruction,  and  possessing,  moreover, 
a  certain  remarkable  unity,  which  might  almost  seem  the 
result  of  artistic  arrangement.  But  the  story  would  in- 
clude a  chain  of  events  extending  over  the  better  part  of 
two  centuries,  and,  written  out  with  reasonable  amphtude, 
would  fill  a  bigger  folio  volume,  or  a  longer  series  of  duo- 
decimos, than  could  prudently  be  appropriated  to  the 
annals  of  all  New  England  during  a  similar  period.  It 
consequently  becomes  imperative  to  make  short  work 
with  most  of  the  traditionary  lore  of  which  the  old 
Pyncheon  House,  otherwise  known  as  the  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables,  has  been  the  theme.  With  a  brief  sketch, 
therefore,  of  the  circumstances  amid  which  the  founda- 
tion of  the  house  was  laid,  and  a  rapid  glimpse  at  its 
quaint  exterior,  as  it  grew  black  in  the  prevalent  east 
wind,  —  pointing,  too,  here  and  there,  at  some  spot  of 
more  verdant  mossiness  on  its  roof  and  walls,  —  we 
shall  commence  the  real  action  of  our  tale  at  an  epoch 
not  very  remote  from  the  present  day.  Still,  there  will 
be  a  connection  with  the  long  past  —  a  reference  to  for- 
gotten events  and  personages,  and  to  manners,  feehngs, 
and  opinions,  almost  or  wholly  obsolete  —  which,  if  ade- 
quately translated  to  the  reader,  would  serve  to  illustrate 
how  much  of  old  material  goes  to  make  up  the  freshest 
novelty  of  human  hfe.  Hence,  too,  might  be  drawn  a 
weighty  lesson  from  the  httle-regarded  truth,  that  the  act 
of  the  passhig  generation  is  the  germ  which  may  and 
must  produce  good  or  evil  fruit,  in  a  far-distant  time  ; 
that,  together  with  the  seed  of  the  merely  temporary 
crop,  which  mortals  term  expediency,  they  inevitably 
sow  the  acorns  of  a  more  enduring  growth,  which  may 
darkly  overshadow  their  posterity. 

The   House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  antique  as  it   now 
looks,  was  not  the  first  habitation  erected  by  civilized 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       13 

man  on  precisely  the  same  spot  of  ground.  Pyncheon 
Street  formerly  bore  the  humbler  appellation  of  Maule's 
Lane,  from  the  name  of  the  original  occupant  of  the 
soil,  before  whose  cottage-door  it  was  a  cow-path.  A 
natural  spring  of  soft  and  pleasant  water  —  a  rare  treas- 
ure on  the  sea-girt  peninsula,  where  the  Puritan  settle- 
ment was  made  —  had  early  induced  Matthew  Maule  to 
build  a  hut,  shaggy  with  thatch,  at  this  point,  although 
somewhat  too  remote  from  what  was  then  the  centre  of 
the  village.  In  the  growth  of  the  town,  however,  after 
some  thirty  or  forty  years,  the  site  covered  by  this  rude 
hovel  had  become  exceedingly  desirable  in  the  eyes  of  a 
prominent  and  powerful  personage,  who  asserted  plausi- 
ble claims  to  the  proprietorship  of  this,  and  a  large  adja- 
cent tract  of  land,  on  the  strength  of  a  grant  from  the 
legislature.  Colonel  Pyncheon,  the  claimant,  as  we 
gather  from  whatever  traits  of  him  are  preserved,  was 
characterized  by  an  iron  energy  of  purpose.  Matthew 
Maule,  on  the  other  hand,  though  an  obscure  man,  was 
stubborn  in  the  defence  of  what  he  considered  his  right ; 
and,  for  several  years,  he  succeeded  in  protecting  the 
acre  or  two  of  earth,  which,  with  his  own  toil,  he  had 
hewn  out  of  the  primeval  forest,  to  be  his  garden-ground 
and  homestead.  No  written  record  of  this  dispute  is 
known  to  be  in  existence.  Our  acquaintance  with  the 
whole  subject  is  derived  chiefly  from  tradition.  It  would 
be  bold,  therefore,  and  possibly  unjust,  to  venture  a  de- 
cisive opinion  as  to  its  merits ;  although  it  appears  to 
have  been  at  least  a  matter  of  doubt,  whether  Colonel 
Pyncheon' s  claim  were  not  unduly  stretched,  in  order  to 
make  it  cover  the  small  metes  and  bounds  of  Matthew 
Maule.  What  greatly  strengthens  such  a  suspicion  is 
the  fact  that  this  controversy  between  two  ill-matched 
antagonists  —  at  a  period,  moreover,  laud  it  as  we  may. 


14    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

when  personal  influence  had  far  more  "weiglit  tliau  now 
—  remained  for  years  undecided,  and  came  to  a  close 
only  witli  the  death  of  the  party  occupying  the  disputed 
soil.  The  mode  of  his  death,  too,  affects  the  mind  dif- 
ferently, in  our  day,  from  what  it  did  a  century  and  a  half 
ago.  It  was  a  death  that  blasted  with  strange  horror 
the  humble  name  of  the  dweller  in  the  cottage,  and  made 
it  seem  almost  a  religious  act  to  drive  the  plough  over 
the  httle  area  of  his  habitation,  and  obliterate  his  place 
and  memory  from  among  men. 

Old  Matthew  Maule,  in  a  word,  was  executed  for  the 
crime  of  witchcraft.  He  was  one  of  the  martyrs  to  that 
terrible  delusion,  which  should  teach  us,  among  its  other 
morals,  that  the  influential  classes,  and  those  who  take 
upon  themselves  to  be  leaders  of  the  people,  are  fully 
liable  to  all  the  passionate  error  that  has  ever  character- 
ized the  maddest  mob.  Clergymen,  judges,  statesmen,  — 
the  wisest,  calmest,  holiest  persons  of  their  day,  —  stood 
in  the  inner  circle  round  about  the  gallows,  loudest  to 
applaud  the  work  of  blood,  latest  to  confess  themselves 
miserably  deceived.  If  any  one  part  of  their  proceed- 
ings can  be  said  to  deserve  less  blame  than  another,  it 
was  the  singular  indiscrimination  with  which  they  perse- 
cuted, not  merely  the  poor  and  aged,  as  in  former  judicial 
massacres,  but  people  of  all  ranks;  theii-  own  equals, 
brethren,  and  wives.  Amid  the  disorder  of  such  various 
ruin,  it  is  not  strange  that  a  man  of  inconsiderable  note, 
like  Manle,  should  have  trodden  the  martyr's  path  to  the 
hill  of  execution  almost  unremarked  in  the  throng  of  his 
fellow-sufferers.  But,  in  after  days,  when  the  frenzy  of 
that  hideous  epoch  had  subsided,  it  was  remembered  how 
loudly  Colonel  Pyncheon  had  joined  in  the  general  cry, 
to  purge  the  land  from  witchcraft ;  nor  did  it  fail  to  be 
whispered,  that  ther^  was  an  invidious  acrimony  in  the 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       15 

zeal  with  "whicli  he  had  sought  the  coudemnation  of 
Matthew  Maule.  It  was  well  known  that  the  victim  had 
recognized  the  bitterness  of  personal  enmity  in  his  per- 
secutor's conduct  towards  him,  and  that  he  declared  him- 
self hunted  to  death  for  his  spoil.  At  the  moment  of 
execution  —  with  the  halter  about  his  neck,  and  while 
Colonel  Pyncheon  sat  on  horseback,  grimly  gazing  at  the 
scene  —  Maule  had  addressed  him  fi'om  the  scaffold,  and 
uttered  a  prophecy,  of  which  history,  as  well  as  fireside 
tradition,  has  preserved  the  very  words.  "  God,"  said 
the  dying  man,  pointing  his  finger,  with  a  ghastly  look, 
at  the  undismayed  countenance  of  his  enemy,  —  "  God 
wiU  give  him  blood  to  drink  !  " 

After  the  reputed  wizard's  death,  his  humble  home- 
stead had  fallen  an  easy  spoil  into  Colonel  Pyncheon's 
grasp.  When  it  was  understood,  however,  that  the 
Colonel  intended  to  erect  a  family  mansion  —  spacious, 
ponderously  framed  of  oaken  timber,  and  calculated  to 
endure  for  many  generations  of  his  posterity  —  over  the 
spot  first  covered  by  the  log-built  hut  of  Matthew  Maule, 
there  was  much  shaking  of  the  head  among  the  village 
gossips.  Without  absolutely  expressmg  a  doubt  whether 
the  stalwart  Puritan  had  acted  as  a  man  of  conscience 
and  integrity,  throughout  the  proceedings  which  have 
been  sketched,  they,  nevertheless,  hinted  that  he  was 
about  to  build  his  house  over  an  unquiet  grave.  His 
home  would  include  the  home  of  the  dead  and  buried 
wizard,  and  would  thus  afford  the  ghost  of  the  latter  a 
kind  of  privilege  to  hamit  its  new  apartments,  and  the 
chambers  into  which  future  bridegrooms  were  to  lead 
their  brides,  and  where  children  of  the  Pyncheon  blood 
were  to  be  born.  The  terror  and  ugliness  of  Maule 's 
crime,  and  the  wretchedness  of  his  punishment,  would 
darken  the  freshly  plastered  walls,  and  infect  them  early 


16    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

with  the  scent  of  an  old  and  melancholy  house,  ^liy, 
then,  —  while  so  much  of  the  soil  around  him  was 
bestrewn  with  the  virgin  forest-leaves,  —  why  should 
Colonel  Pyncheon  prefer  a  site  that  had  already  been 
accurst  ? 

But  the  Puritan  soldier  and  magistrate  was  not  a  m^i) 
to  be  turned  aside  from  his  well-considered  scheme,  either 
by  dread  of  the  wizard's  ghost,  or  by  flimsy  sentimentali- 
ties of  any  kind,  however  specious.  Had  he  been  told 
of  a  bad  air,  it  might  have  moved  him  somewhat ;  but  he 
was  ready  to  encounter  an  evil  spirit  on  his  own  ground. 
Endowed  with  common-sense,  as  massive  and  hard  as 
blocks  of  granite,  fastened  together  by  stern  rigidity  of 
purpose,  as  with  iron  clamps,  he  followed  out  his  original 
design,  probably  without  so  much  as  imagining  an  objec- 
tion to  it.  On  the  score  of  delicacy,  or  any  scrupulous- 
ness which  a  finer  sensibility  might  have  taught  him,  the 
Colonel,  like  most  of  his  breed  and  generation,  was  im- 
penetrable. He,  therefore,  dug  his  cellar,  and  laid  the 
deep  foundations  of  his  mansion,  on  the  square  of  earth 
whence  Matthew  Maule,  forty  years  before,  had  first 
swept  away  the  fallen  leaves.  It  was  a  curious,  and,  as 
some  people  thought,  an  ominous  fact,  that,  very  soon 
after  the  workmen  began  their  operations,  the  spring  of 
water,  above  mentioned,  entirely  lost  the  deliciousness 
of  its  pristine  quahty.  Whether  its  sources  were  dis- 
turbed by  the  depth  of  the  new  cellar,  or  whatever 
subtler  cause  might  lurk  at  the  bottom,  it  is  certain  that 
the  water  of  Maule's  Well,  as  it  continued  to  be  called, 
grew  hard  and  brackish.  Even  such  we  find  it  now; 
and  any  old  woman  of  the  neighborhood  will  certify  that 
it  is  productive  of  intestinal  mischief  to  those  who  quench 
their  thirst  there. 

The  reader  may  deem  it  singidar  that  the  head  car- 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       17 

penter  of  the  new  edifice  was  no  otner  than  the  son  of 
the  very  man  from  whose  dead  gripe  the  property  of  the 
soil  had  been  wrested.  Not  improbably  he  was  the  best 
workman  of  his  time ;  or,  perhaps,  the  Colonel  thought  it 
expedient,  or  was  impelled  by  some  better  feeling,  thus 
openly  to  cast  aside  all  animosity  against  the  race  of  his 
fallen  antagonist.  Nor  was  it  out  of  keeping  with  the 
general  coarseness  and  matter-of-fact  character  of  the 
age,  that  the  son  should  be  willing  to  earn  an  honest 
penny,  or,  rather,  a  weighty  amount  of  sterHng  pounds, 
from  the  purse  of  his  father's  deadly  enemy.  At  all 
events,  Thomas  Maule  became  the  architect  of  the  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables,  and  performed  his  duty  so  faithfully 
that  the  timber  framework,  fastened  by  his  hands,  still 
holds  together. 

Thus  the  great  house  was  built.  Familiar  as  it  stands 
in  the  writer's  recollection,  —  for  it  has  been  an  object  of 
curiosity  with  him  from  boyhood,  both  as  a  specimen  of 
the  best  and  stateliest  architecture  of  a  long-past  epoch, 
and  as  the  scene  of  events  more  full  of  human  interest, 
perhaps,  than  those  of  a  gray  feudal  castle,  —  familiar  as 
it  stands,  in  its  rusty  old  age,  it  is  therefore  only  the 
more  difficult  to  imagine  the  bright  novelty  with  which 
it  first  caught  the  sunshine.  The  impression  of  its  actual 
state,  at  this  distance  of  a  hundred  and  sixty  years,  dark- 
ens inevitably,  through  the  picture  which  we  would  fain 
give  of  its  appearance  on  the  morning  when  the  Puritan 
magnate  bade  all  the  town  to  be  his  guests.  A  ceremony 
of  consecration,  festive  as  well  as  reli'gious,  was  now  to 
be  performed.  A  prayer  and  discourse  from  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Higginson,  and  the  outpouring  of  a  psalm  from  the 
general  throat  of  the  community,  was  to  be  made  accept- 
able to  the  grosser  sense  by  ale,  cider,  wine,  and  brandy, 
in  copious  effusion,  and,  as  some  authorities  aver,  by  an 


18    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

OX,  roasted  whole,  or,  at  least,  by  the  weight  and  sub- 
stance of  an  ox,  in  more  manageable  joints  and  sirloins. 
The  carcass  of  a  deer,  shot  within  twenty  miles,  had 
supplied  material  for  the  vast  circumference  of  a  pasty. 
A  codfish  of  sixty  pounds,  caught  in  the  bay,  had  been 
dissolved  into  the  rich  liquid  of  a  chowder.  The  chimney 
of  the  new  house,  in  short,  belching  forth  its  kitchen- 
smoke,  impregnated  the  whole  air  with  the  scent  of 
meats,  fowls,  and  fishes,  spicily  concocted  with  odorifer- 
ous herbs,  and  onions  in  abundance.  The  mere  smell  of 
such  festivity,  making  its  vfay  to  everybody's  nostrils, 
was  at  once  an  invitation  and  an  appetite. 

Maule's  Lane,  or  Pyncheon  Street,  as  it  were  now 
more  decorous  to  call  it,  was  thronged,  at  the  appointed 
hour,  as  with  a  congregation  on  its  way  to  church.  All, 
as  they  approached,  looked  upward  at  the  imposing  edi- 
fice, which  was  henceforth  to  assume  its  rank  among  the 
habitations  of  mankind.  There  it  rose,  a  little  withdrawn 
from  the  line  of  the  street,  but  in  pride,  not  modesty. 
Its  whole  visible  exterior  was  ornamented  with  quaint 
figures,  conceived  in  the  grotesqueness  of  a  Gothic  fancy, 
and  drawn  or  stamped  in  the  glittering  plaster,  composed 
of  lime,  pebbles,  and  bits  of  glass,  with  which  the  wood- 
work of  the  walls  was  overspread.  On  every  side,  the 
seven  gables  pointed  sharply  towards  the  sky,  and  pre- 
sented the  aspect  of  a  whole  sisterhood  of  edifices,  breath- 
ing through  the  spiracles  of  one  great  chimney.  The 
many  lattices,  with  their  small,  diamond-shaped  panes, 
admitted  the  sunlight  into  hall  and  chamber,  while,  never- 
theless, the  second  story,  projecting  far  over  the  base, 
and  itself  retirmg  beneath  the  third,  threw  a  shadowy  and 
thoughtful  gloom  into  the  lower  rooms.  Carved  globes 
of  wood  were  affixed  under  the  jutting  stories.  Little 
spii-al  rods  of  iron  beautified  each  of  the  seven  peaks. 


THE    OLD    PYNCHEON    FAMILY.  19 

On  the  triangular  portion  of  tlie  gable,  that  fronted  next 
the  street,  was  a  dial,  put  up  that  very  morning,  and  on 
which  the  sun  was  still  marking  the  passage  of  the  first 
bright  hour  in  a  history  that  was  not  destined  to  be  all 
so  bright.  All  around  were  scattered  shavings,  chips, 
shingles,  and  broken  halves  of  bricks;  these,  together 
with  the  lately  turned  earth,  on  which  the  grass  had  not 
begun  to  grow,  contributed  to  the  impression  of  strange- 
ness and  novelty  proper  to  a  house  that  had  yet  its  place 
to  make  among  men's  daily  interests. 

The  prmcipal  entrance,  which  had  almost  the  breadth 
of  a  church-door,  was  in  the  angle  between  the  two  front 
gables,  and  was  covered  by  an  open  porch,  with  benches 
beneath  its  shelter.  Under  this  arched  doorway,  scrap- 
ing their  feet  on  the  unworn  threshold,  now  trod  the 
clergymen,  the  elders,  the  magistrates,  the  deacons,  and 
whatever  of  aristocracy  there  was  in  town  or  county. 
Thither,  too,  thronged  the  plebeian  classes,  as  freely 
as  their  betters,  and  in  larger  nmnber.  Just  within 
the  entrance,  however,  stood  two  serving-men,  pohiting 
some  of  the  guests  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  kitchen, 
and  ushering  others  into  the  statelier  rooms, — hospitable 
alike  to  all,  but  stUl  with  a  scrutinizing  regard  to  the 
high  or  low  degree  of  each.  Velvet  garments,  sombre 
but  rich,  stiffly  plaited  ruffs  and  bands,  embroidered 
gloves,  venerable  beajds,  the  mien  and  countenance  of 
authority,  made  it  easy  to  distinguish  the  gentleman  of 
worship,  at  that  period,  from  the  tradesman,  with  his 
plodding  air,  or  the  laborer,  in.  his  leathern  jerkin,  steal- 
ing awe-stricken  into  the  house  which  he  had  perhaps 
helped  to  build. 

.  One  inauspicious  circumstance  there  was,  which  awak- 
ened a  hardly  concealed  displeasure  in  the  breasts  of  a 
few  of  the  more  punctihous  visitors.     The  founder  of  this 


20    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

stately  mansion  —  a  gentleman  noted  for  the  square  and 
ponderous  courtesy  of  bis  demeanor  —  ought  surely  to 
have  stood  in  his  own  hall,  and  to  have  offered  the  first 
welcome  to  so  many  eminent  personages  as  here  pre- 
sented themselves  in  honor  of  his  solemn  festival.  He 
was  as  yet  invisible;  the  most  favored  of  the  guests 
had  not  beheld  him.  This  sluggishness  on  Colonel  Pyn- 
cheon's  part  became  still  more  unaccountable,  when  the 
second  dignitary  of  the  province  made  his  appearance, 
and  found  no  more  ceremonious  a  reception.  The  lieu- 
tenant-governor, although  his  visit  was  one  of  the  antici- 
pated glories  of  the  day,  had  alighted  from  his  horse,  and 
assisted  his  lady  from  her  side-saddle,  and  crossed  the 
Colonel's  threshold,  without  other  greeting  than  that  of 
the  principal  domestic. 

This  person — a  gray-headed  man,  of  quiet  and  most 
respectful  deportment  —  found  it  necessary  to  explain 
that  his  master  still  remained  in  his  study,  or  private 
apartment;  on  entering  which,  an  hour  before,  he  had 
expressed  a  wish  on  no  account  to  be  disturbed. 

"Do  not  you  see,  fellow,"  said  the  high-sheriff  of  the 
county,  taking  the  servant  aside,  "that  this  is  no  less 
a  man  than  the  lieutenant-governor  ?  Summon  Colonel 
Pyncheon  at  once  !  I  know  that  he  received  letters  from 
England,  this  morning ;  and,  in  the  perusal  and  consider- 
ation of  them,  an  hour  may  have  passed  away,  without 
his  noticing  it.  But  he  will  be  ill-pleased,  I  judge,  if 
you  suffer  him  to  neglect  the  courtesy  due  to  one  of  our 
cliief  rulers,  and  who  may  be  said  to  represent  King  Wil- 
liam, in  the  absence  of  the  governor  himself.  Call  your 
master  mstantly ! " 

"Nay,  please  your  worship,"  answered  the  man,  in 
much  perplexity,  but  with  a  backwardness  that  strikingly 
indicated  the  hard  and  severe  character  of  Colonel  Pvn- 


THE    OLD    PYXCHEOX    FAMILY.  21 

cheon's  domestic  rule;  "mj  master's  orders  were  ex- 
ceeding strict ;  and,  as  your  worsliip  knows,  he  permits 
of  no  discretion  in  the  obedience  of  those  who  owe  him 
service.  Let  who  list  open  yonder  door;  I  dare  not, 
though  the  governor's  own  voice  should  bid  me  do  it !  " 

"Pooh,  pooh,  master  high-sheriff!"  cried  the  lieuten- 
ant-governor, who  had  overheard  the  foregoing  discus 
sion,  and  felt  himself  high  enough  in  station  to  play  a 
Kttle  with  his  dignity.  "  I  will  take  the  matter  into  my 
own  hands.  It  is  time  that  the  good  Colonel  came  forth 
to  greet  his  friends ;  else  we  shall  be  apt  to  suspect  that 
he  has  taken  a  sip  too  much  of  his  Canary  wine,  in  his 
extreme  dehberation  which  cask  it  were  best  to  broach, 
in  honor  of  the  day !  But  since  he  is  so  much  behind- 
hand, I  will  give  him  a  remembrancer  myself ! " 

Accordingly,  with  such  a  tramp  of  his  ponderous  rid- 
ing-boots as  might  of  itself  have  been  audible  in  the 
remotest  of  the  seven  gables,  he  advanced  to  the  door, 
which  the  servant  pointed  out,  and  made  its  new  panels 
re-echo  with  a  loud,  free  knock.  Then,  looking  round, 
with  a  smile,  to  the  spectators,  he  awaited  a  response. 
As  none  came,  however,  he  knocked  again,  but  with  the 
same  unsatisfactory  result  as  at  first.  And  now,  being  a 
trifle  choleric  in  his  temperament,  the  lieutenant-governor 
uphfted  the  heavy  hilt  of  his  sword,  wherevdth  he  so  beat 
and  banged  upon  the  door,  that,  as  some  of  the  by-stand- 
ers  whispered,  the  racket  might  have  disturbed  the  dead. 
Be  that  as  it  might,  it  seemed  to  produce  no  awakening 
effect  on  Colonel  Pyncheon.  When  the  sound  subsided, 
the  silence  through  the  house  was  deep,  dreary,  and  op 
pressive,  notwithstanding  that  the  tongues  of  many  ol 
the  guests  had  already  been  loosened  by  a  surreptitious 
cup  or  two  of  wine  or  spirits. 

"  Strange,  forsooth  !  — very  strange  !  "  cried  the  lieu- 


22    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

tenant-governor,  -whose  smile  was  changed  to  a  frown. 
"  But  seeing  that  our  host  sets  us  the  good  example  of 
forgetting  ceremony,  I  shall  likewise  throw  it  aside,  and 
make  free  to  intrude  on  his  privacy  !  " 

He  tried  the  door,  which  yielded  to  his  hand,  and  was 
flung  wide  open  by  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  that  passed, 
as  with  a  loud  sigh,  from  the  outermost  portal  through 
all  the  passages  and  apartments  of  the  new  house.  It 
rustled  the  silken  garments  of  the  ladies,  and  waved  the 
long  curls  of  the  gentlemen's  wigs,  and  shook  the  win- 
dow-hangings and  the  curtams  of  the  bedchambers ; 
causing  everywhere  a  singular  stir,  which  yet  was  more 
like  a  hush.  A  shadow  of  awe  and  half-fearful  anticipa- 
tion —  nobody  knew  wherefore,  nor  of  what  —  had  all  at 
once  fallen  over  the  company. 

They  thronged,  however,  to  the  now  open  door,  press- 
ing the  Heutenant-governor,  in  the  eagerness  of  their 
curiosity,  into  the  room  in  advance  of  them.  At  the  first 
ghmpse,  they  beheld  nothing  extraordinary :  a  hand- 
somely furnished  room,  of  moderate  size,  somewhat  dark- 
ened by  curtains;  books  arranged  on  shelves;  a  large 
map  on  the  wall,  and  hkewise  a  portrait  of  Colonel  Pyn- 
cheon,  beneath  which  sat  the  original  Colonel  himself, 
in  an  oaken  elbow-chair,  with  a  pen  in  his  hand.  Let- 
ters, parchments,  and  blank  sheets  of  paper  were  on  the 
table  before  him.  He  appeared  to  gaze  at  the  curious 
crowd,  in  front  of  which  stood  the  lieutenant-governor ; 
and  there  was  a  frown  on  his  dark  and  massive  counte- 
nance, as  if  sternly  resentful  of  the  boldness  that  had 
impelled  them  into  his  private  retirement. 

A  httle  boy  —  the  Colonel's  grandchild,  and  the  only 
human  being  that  ever  dared  to  be  familiar  with  him  — 
now  made  his  way  among  the  guests,  and  ran  towards 
the  seated  figui-e;   then  pausing  half-way,  he  began  to 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       23 

shriek  with  terror.  The  company,  tremulous  as  the 
leaves  of  a  tree,  when  all  are  shaking  together,  drew 
nearer,  and  perceived  that  there  was  an  unnatural  dis- 
tortion in  the  fixedness  of  Colonel  Pyncheon's  stare; 
that  there  was  blood  on  his  rufi",  and  that  his  hoary 
beard  was  saturated  with  it.  It  was  too  late  to  give 
assistance.  The  iron-hearted  Puritan,  the  relentless  per- 
secutor, the  grasping  and  strong-willed  man,  was  dead ! 
Dead,  in  his  new  house !  There  is  a  tradition,  only 
worth  alluding  to,  as  lending  a  tinge  of  superstitious 
awe  to  a  scene  perhaps  gloomy  enough  without  it,  that  a 
voice  spoke  loudly  among  the  guests,  the  tones  of  which 
were  like  those  of  old  Matthew  Maule,  the  executed  wiz- 
ard, — "  God  hath  given  him  blood  to  drink  !  " 

Thus  early  had  that  one  guest,  —  the  only  guest  who 
is  certain,  at  one  time  or  another,  to  find  his  way  into 
every  human  dwelling,  —  thus  early  had  Death  stepped 
across  the  threshold  of  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  ! 

Colonel  Pyncheon's  sudden  and  mysterious  end  made 
a  vast  deal  of  noise  in  its  day.  There  were  many  rumors, 
some  of  which  have  vaguely  drifted  down  to  the  present 
time,  how  that  appearances  indicated  violence  ;  that  there 
were  the  marks  of  fingers  on  his  throat,  and  the  print  of 
a  bloody  hand  on  his  plaited  ruff;  and  that  his  peaked 
beard  was  dishevelled,  as  if  it  had  been  fiercely  clutched 
and  pulled.  It  was  averred,  likewise,  that  the  lattice- 
wmdow,  near  the  Colonel's  chair,  was  open;  and  that, 
only  a  few  minutes  before  the  fatal  occurrence,  the  figure 
of  a  man  had  been  seen  clambering  over  the  garden-fence, 
in  the  rear  of  the  house.  But  it  were  folly  to  lay  any 
stress  on  stories  of  this  kind,  which  are  sure  to  spring 
up  around  such  an  event  as  ihfi  now  related,  and  which, 
as  in  the  present  case,  sometimes  prolong  themselves  for 
ages  afterwards,  like  the  toadstools  that  indicate  where 


24    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  fallen  and  buried  trunk  of  a  tree  has  long  since 
mouldered  into  the  earth.  For  our  own  part,  we  allow 
them  just  as  little  credence  as  to  that  other  fable  of  the 
skeleton  hand  which  the  heutenant -governor  was  said  to 
have  seen  at  the  Colonel's  throat,  but  which  vanished 
away,  as  he  advanced  farther  into  the  room.  Certain  it 
is,  however,  that  there  was  a  great  consultation  and  dis- 
pute of  doctors  over  the  dead  body.  One  —  John  Swin- 
nerton  by  name  —  who  appears  to  have  been  a  man  of 
eminence,  upheld  it,  if  we  have  rightly  understood  his 
terms  of  art,  to  be  a  case  of  apoplexy.  His  professional 
brethren,  each  for  himself,  adopted  various  hypotheses, 
more  or  less  plausible,  but  all  dressed  out  in  a  perplexing 
mystery  of  phrase,  which,  if  it  do  not  show  a  bewilder- 
ment of  mind  in  these  erudite  physicians,  certainly  causes 
it  in  the  unlearned  peruser  of  their  opinions.  The  cor- 
oner's jury  sat  upon  the  corpse,  and,  like  sensible  men, 
returned  an  unassailable  verdict  of  "  Sudden  Death  !  " 

It  is  indeed  difficult  to  imagine  that  there  could  hare 
been  a  serious  suspicion  of  murder,  or  the  sUghtest  grounds 
for  implicating  any  particular  individual  as  the  perpetrar 
tor.  The  rank,  wealth,  and  eminent  character  of  the 
deceased  must  have  insured  the  strictest  scrutiny  into 
every  ambiguous  circumstance.  As  none  such  is  on  rec- 
ord, it  is  safe  to  assume  that  none  existed.  Tradition, — 
which  sometunes  brings  down  truth  that  history  has  let 
slip,  but  is  oftener  the  wild  babble  of  the  time,  such  as 
was  formerly  spoken  at  the  fireside,  and  now  congeals 
in  newspapers,  —  tradition  is  responsible  for  all  contra- 
ry averments.  In  Colonel  Pyncheon's  funeral  sermon, 
which  was  printed,  and  is  still  extant,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hig- 
ginson  enumerates,  among  the  many  felicities  of  his  dis- 
tinguished parishioner's  earthly  career,  the  happy  season- 
ableness  of  his  death.     His  duties  all  performed, — thf 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       25 

highest  prosperity  attained,  —  his  race  and  future  gener- 
ations fixed  on  a  stable  basis,  and  with  a  stately  roof  to 
shelter  them,  for  centuries  to  come,  — what  other  upward 
step  remained  for  this  good  man  to  take,  save  the  final 
step  from  earth  to  the  golden  gate  of  heaven !  The  pious 
clergyman  surely  would  not  have  uttered  words  like 
these,  had  he  in  the  least  suspected  that  the  Colonel  had 
been  thrust  into  the  other  world  with  the  clutch  of  vio- 
lence upon  his  throat. 

The  family  of  Colonel  Pyncheon,  at  the  epoch  of  his 
death,  seemed  destined  to  as  fortunate  a  permanence  as 
can  anywise  consist  with  the  inherent  instability  of  human 
affairs.  It  might  fairly  be  anticipated  that  the  progress 
of  time  would  rather  increase  and  ripen  their  prosperity, 
than  wear  away  and  destroy  it.  Tor,  not  only  had  his 
son  and  heir  come  into  immediate  enjoyment  of  a  rich 
estate,  but  there  was  a  claim,  through  an  Indian  deed, 
confirmed  by  a  subsequent  grant  of  the  General  Court, 
to  a  vast  and  as  yet  unexplored  and  unmeasured  tract  of 
Eastern  lands.  These  possessions  —  for  as  such  they 
might  almost  certainly  be  reckoned  —  comprised  the 
greater  part  of  what  is  now  known  as  Waldo  County,  in 
the  State  of  Maine,  and  were  more  extensive  than  many 
a  dukedom,  or  even  a  reigning  prince's  territory,  on 
European  soil.  When  the  pathless  forest,  that  still  cov- 
ered this  wild  principality,  should  give  place  —  as  it  in- 
evitably must,  though  perhaps  not  till  ages  hence — to 
the  golden  fertility  of  human  culture,  it  would  be  the 
source  of  incalculable  wealth  to  the  Pyncheon  blood. 
Had  the  Colonel  survived  only  a  few  weeks  longer,  it  is 
probable  that  his  great  political  influence,  and  powerful 
connections,  at  home  and  abroad,  would  have  consum- 
mated all  that  was  necessary  to  render  the  claim  available. 
But,  in  spite  of  good  Mr.  Higginson's  cougratulatorj 


26    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

eloquence,  this  appeared  to  be  the  one  thing  which  Colo- 
nel Pyncheon,  provident  and  sagacious  as  he  was,  had 
allowed  to  go  at  loose  ends.  So  far  as  the  prospective 
territory  was  concerned,  he  unquestionably  died  too  soon. 
His  son  lacked  not  merely  the  father's  eminent  position, 
but  the  talent  and  force  of  character  to  achieve  it :  he 
could,  therefore,  effect  nothing  by  dint  of  political  inter- 
est ;  and  the  bare  justice  or  legality  of  the  claim  was  not 
so  apparent,  after  the  Colonel's  decease,  as  it  had  been 
pronounced  in  his  lifetime.  Some  connecting  link  had 
slipped  out  of  the  evidence,  and  could  not  anywhere  be 
found. 

Efforts,  it  is  true,  were  made  by  the  Pyncheons,  not 
only  then,  but  at  various  periods  for  nearly  a  hundred 
years  afterwards,  to  obtain  what  they  stubbornly  persisted 
in  deeming  their  right.  But,  in  course  of  time,  the  terri- 
tory was  partly  re -granted  to  more  favored  individuals, 
and  partly  cleared  and  occupied  by  actual  settlers.  These 
last,  if  they  ever  heard  of  the  Pyncheon  title,  would  have 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  any  man's  asserting  a  right  —  on 
the  strength  of  mouldy  parchments,  signed  with  the  faded 
autographs  of  governors  and  legislators  long  dead  and 
forgotten  —  to  the  lands  which  they  or  their  fathers  had 
wrested  from  the  wild  hand  of  nature,  by  their  own  sturdy 
toil.  This  impalpable  claim,  therefore,  resulted  in  noth- 
ing more  soUd  than  to  cherish,  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation, an  absurd  delusion  of  family  importance,  whicli  all 
along  characterized  the  Pyncheons.  It  caused  the  poor- 
est member  of  the  race  to  feel  as  if  he  inherited  a  kind 
of  nobiHty,  and  might  yet  come  into  the  possession  of 
princely  wealth  to  support  it.  In  the  better  specimens 
of  the  breed,  this  peculiarity  threw  an  ideal  grace  over 
the  hard  material  of  human  life,  without  stealing  away 
any  truly  valuable  quahty.     In  the  baser  sort,  its  effect 


THE    OLD    PYNCHEON    FAMILY.  27 

was  to  increase  tlie  liability  to  sluggishness  and  depend- 
ence, and  induce  the  victim  of  a  shadowy  hope  to  remit 
all  self-effort,  while  awaiting  the  reahzation  of  his  dreams. 
Years  and  years  after  their  claim  had  passed  out  of  the 
pubUc  memory,  the  Pyncheons  were  accustomed  to  con- 
sult the  Colonel's  ancient  map,  which  had  been  projected 
while  Waldo  County  was  still  an  unbroken  wilderness. 
Where  the  old  land-surveyor  had  put  down  woods,  lakes, 
and  rivers,  they  marked  out  the  cleared  spaces,  and  dotted 
the  villages  and  towns,  and  calculated  the  progressively 
increasing  value  of  the  territory,  as  if  there  were  yet  a 
prospect  of  its  ultimately  forming  a  princedom  for  them- 
selves. 

In  almost  every  generation,  nevertheless,  there  hap- 
pened to  be  some  one  descendant  of  the  family  gifted  with 
a  portion  of  the  hard,  keen  sense,  and  practical  energy, 
that  had  so  remarkably  distinguished  the  original  founder. 
His  character,  indeed,  might  be  traced  all  the  way  down, 
as  distinctly  as  if  the  Colonel  himself,  a  little  diluted,  had 
been  gifted  with  a  sort  of  intermittent  immortality  on 
earth.  At  two  or  three  epochs,  when  the  fortunes  of  the 
family  were  low,  this  representative  of  hereditary  quali- 
ties had  made  his  appearance,  and  caused  the  traditionary 
gossips  of  the  town  to  whisper  among  themselves,  — • 
*'  Here  is  the  old  Pyncheon  come  again !  Now  the 
Seven  Gables  will  be  new-shingled !  "  From  father  to 
son,  they  clung  to  the  ancestral  house,  with  smgular 
tenacity  of  home  attachment.  Por  various  reasons,  how- 
ever, and  from  impressions  often  too  vaguely  founded  to 
be  put  on  paper,  the  writer  cherishes  the  behef  that  many, 
if  not  most,  of  the  successive  proprietors  of  this  estate 
were  troubled  with  doubts  as  to  their  moral  right  to 
hold  it.  Of  their  legal  tenure  there  could  be  no  ques- 
tion ;  but  old  Matthew  Maule,  it  is  to  be  feared,  trode 


28    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

downward  from  his  own  age  to  a  far  later  one,  planting  & 
heavy  footstep,  all  the  way,  on  the  conscience  of  a  Pyn- 
cheon.  If  so,  we  are  left  to  dispose  of  the  awful  query, 
whether  each  inheritor  of  the  property  —  conscious  of 
wrong,  and  failing  to  rectify  it  —  did  not  commit  anew 
t  he  great  guilt  of  his  ancestor,  and  incur  all  its  original 
lesponsibihties.  And  supposing  such  to  be  the  case, 
would  it  not  be  a  far  truer  mode  of  expression  to  say,  of 
the  Pyncheon  family,  that  they  inherited  a  great  misfor- 
tune, than  the  reverse  ? 

We  have  abeady  hinted,  that  it  is  not  our  purpose  to 
trace  down  the  history  of  the  Pyncheon  family,  in  its  un- 
broken connection  with  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables ; 
nor  to  show,  as  in  a  magic  picture,  how  the  rustiness  and 
infirmity  of  age  gathered  over  the  venerable  house  itself. 
As  regards  its  interior  life,  a  large,  dim  looking-glass 
used  to  hang  in  one  of  the  rooms,  and  was  fabled  to  con- 
tain within  its  depths  all  the  shapes  that  had  ever  been 
reflected  there,  —  the  old  Colonel  himself,  and  his  many 
descendants,  some  in  the  garb  of  antique  babyhood,  and 
others  in  the  bloom  of  fcmmiue  beauty  or  manly  prime, 
or  saddened  with  the  wrinkles  of  frosty  age.  Had  we 
the  secret  of  that  mirror,  we  would  gladly  sit  down  be- 
fore it,  and  transfer  its  revelations  to  our  page.  But 
there  was  a  story,  for  which  it  is  diflBcult  to  conceive  any 
foundation,  that  the  posterity  of  Matthew  Maule  had 
some  connection  with  the  mystery  of  the  looking-glass, 
and  that,  by  what  appears  to  have  been  a  sort  of  mes- 
meric process,  they  could  make  its  inner  region  all  alive 
vdth  the  departed  Pyncheons ;  not  as  they  had  shown 
themselves  to  the  world  nor  in  their  better  and  happier 
hours,  but  as  doing  over  agam  some  deed  of  sin,  or  in 
the  crisis  of  hfe's  iDitterest  sorrow.  The  popular  imagi- 
nation, indeed,  long  kept  itself  busy  with  the  afi^ir  of  the 


^  THE    OLD    PYNCHEON    FAMILY.  29 

old  Puritan  Pyncheon  and  the  wizard  Maule  ;  the  curse, 
which  the  latter  flung  from  his  scaffold,  was  remembered, 
with  the  very  important  addition,  that  it  had  become  a 
part  of  the  Pynclieon  inheritance.  If  one  of  the  family 
did  but  gurgle  in  his  throat,  a  by-stander  would  be  likely 
enough  to  whisper,  between  jest  and  earnest,  —  "  He 
lias  Maule's  blood  to  drink  !  "  The  sudden  death  of  a 
Pyncheon,  about  a  hundred  years  ago,  with  circum- 
stances very  similar  to  what  have  been  related  of  the 
Colonel's  exit,  was  held  as  giving  additional  probabiHty 
to  the  received  opinion  on  this  topic.  It  was  considered, 
moreover,  an  ugly  and  ominous  circumstance,  that 
Colonel  Pyncheon's  picture  —  in  obedience,  it  was  said, 
to  a  provision  of  his  will  —  remained  affixed  to  the  wall 
of  the  room  in  which  he  died.  Those  stern,  immitigable 
features  seemed  to  symbolize  an  evil  influence,  and  so 
darkly  to  mingle  the  shadow  of  their  presence  with  the 
sunshine  of  the  passing  hour,  that  no  good  thoughts  or 
purposes  could  ever  spring  up  and  blossom  there.  To 
the  thoughtful  mind,  there  will  be  no  tinge  of  supersti- 
tion in  what  we  figuratively  express,  by  affirming  that 
the  ghost  of  a  dead  progenitor  —  perhaps  as  a  portion  of 
his  own  punishment  —  is  often  doomed  to  become  the 
Evil  Genius  of  his  family. 

The  Pyncheons,  in  brief,  hved  along,  for  the  better 
part  of  two  centuries,  with  perhaps  less  of  outward 
vicissitude  than  has  attended  most  other  New  England 
families,  during  the  same  period  of  time.  Possessing 
very  distinctive  traits  of  their  own,  they  nevertheless 
took  the  general  characteristics  of  the  little  community 
in  which  they  dwelt;  a  town  noted  for  its  frugal,  dis- 
creet, well-ordered,  and  home-loving  mhabitants,  as  well 
as  for  the  somewhat  confined  scope  of  its  sympathies; 
but  in  which,  be  it  said,  there  are  odder  individuals,  and. 


30    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

now  and  then,  stranger  occurrences,  tlian  one  meeta 
witli  almost  anywhere  else.  During  the  Revolution,  the 
Pyncheon  of  that  epoch,  adopting  the  royal  side,  became 
a  refugee ;  but  repented,  and  made  his  reappearance, 
just  at  the  point  of  time  to  preserve  the  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables  from  confiscation.  For  the  last  seventy 
years,  the  most  noted  event  in  the  Pyncheon  annals  had 
been  likewise  the  heaviest  calamity  that  ever  befell  the 
i-ace  ;  no  less  than  the  violent  death  —  for  so  it  was  ad- 
judged—  of  one  member  of  the  family,  by  the  criminal 
act  of  another.  Certain  circumstances,  attending  this 
fatal  occurrence,  had  brought  the  deed  irresistibly  home 
to  a  nephew  of  the  deceased  Pyncheon.  The  young  man 
was  tried  and  convicted  of  the  crime ;  but  either  the  cir- 
cumstantial natui'e  of  the  evidence,  and  possibly  some 
lurking  doubt  in  the  breast  of  the  executive,  or,  lastly, 
—  an  argument  of  greater  weight  in  a  republic  than  it 
could  have  been  under  a  monarchy,  —  the  high  respecta- 
bility and  political  influence  of  the  criminal's  connections, 
had  availed  to  mitigate  his  doom  from  death  to  perpetual 
imprisonment.  This  sad  affair  had  chanced  about  thirty 
years  before  the  action  of  our  story  commences.  Lat- 
terly, there  were  rumors  (which  few  beheved,  and  only 
one  or  two  felt  greatly  interested  in)  that  this  long-buried 
man  was  Hkely,  for  some  reason  or  other,  to  be  sum- 
moned forth  from  his  living  tomb. 

It  is  essential  to  say  a  few  words  respecting  the  victim 
of  this  now  almost  forgotten  murder.  He  was  an  old 
bachelor,  and  possessed  of  great  wealth,  in  addition  to  the 
house  and  real  estate  which  constituted  what  remained  of 
the  ancient  Pyncheon  property.  Being  of  an  eccentric 
and  melancholy  turn  of  mind,  and  greatly  given  to  rum- 
maging old  records  and  hearkening  to  old  traditions,  he 
had  brought  himself,  it  is  averred,  to  the  conclusion  that 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       31 

Matthew  Maule,  the  wizard,  had  been  foully  wronged 
ou-t  of  his  homestead,  if  not  out  of  his  life.  Such  being 
the  case,  and  he,  the  old  bachelor,  in  possession  of  the 
ill-gotten  spoil,  —  with  the  black  stain  of  blood  sunken 
deep  into  it,  and  still  to  be  scented  by  conscientious  nos- 
trils, —  the  question  occurred,  whether  it  were  not  im- 
perative upon  him,  even  at  this  late  hour,  to  make  resti- 
tution to  Maule's  posterity.  To  a  man  living  so  much 
in  the  past,  and  so  little  in  the  present,  as  the  secluded 
and  antiquarian  old  bachelor,  a  century  and  a  half  seemed 
not  so  vast  a  period  as  to  obviate  the  propriety  of  sub- 
stituting right  for  wrong.  It  was  the  belief  of  those 
who  knew  him  best,  that  he  would  positively  have  taken 
the  very  singular  step  of  giving  up  the  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables  to  the  representative  of  Matthew  Maule, 
but  for  the  unspeakable  tumult  which  a  suspicion  of  the 
old  gentleman's  project  awakened  among  his  Pyncheon 
relatives.  Their  exertions  had  the  effect  of  suspending 
his  purpose ;  but  it  was  feared  that  he  would  perform, 
after  death,  by  the  operation  of  his  last  will,  what  he 
had  so  hardly  been  prevented  from  doing,  in  his  proper 
lifetime.  But  there  is  no  one  thing  which  men  so  rarely 
do,  whatever  the  provocation  or  inducement,  as  to  be- 
queath patrimonial  property  away  from  their  own  blood. 
They  may  love  other  individuals  far  better  than  their 
relatives,  —  they  may  even  cherish  dislike,  or  positive 
hatred,  to  the  latter;  but  yet,  in  view  of  death,  the 
strong  prejudice  of  propinquity  revives,  and  impels  the 
testator  to  send  down  his  estate  in  the  line  marked  out 
by  custom  so  immemorial  that  it  looks  like  nature.  In 
all  the  Pyncheons,  this  feeUng  had  the  energy  of  dis- 
ease. It  was  too  powerful  for  the  conscientious  scruples 
of  the  old  bachelor;  at  whose  death,  accordingly,  the 
mansion-house,  together  with  most  of  his  other  riches, 


32    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

passed  into  the  possession  of  his  next  legal  represent- 
ative. 

This  was  a  nephew,  the  cousin  of  the  miserable  young 
man  who  had  been  convicted  of  the  uncle's  murder.  The 
new  heir,  up  to  the  period  of  his  accession,  was  reckoned 
rather  a  dissipated  youth,  but  had  at  once  reformed,  and 
made  himself  an  exceedingly  respectable  member  of  soci- 
ety. In  fact,  he  showed  more  of  the  Pyncheon  quality, 
and  had  won  higher  eminence  in  the  world,  than  any  of 
his  race,  since  the  time  of  the  original  Puritan.  Apply- 
ing himself  in  earher  manhood  to  the  study  of  the  law, 
and  having  a  natural  tendency  towards  office,  he  had 
attained,  many  years  ago,  to  a  judicial  situation  in  some 
inferior  court,  which  gave  him  for  life  the  very  desirable 
and  imposing  title  of  judge.  Later,  he  had  engaged  in 
politics,  and  served  a  part  of  two  terms  in  Congress,  be- 
sides making  a  considerable  figure  in  both  branches  of 
the  State  legislature.  Judge  P^Ticheon  was  unquestiona- 
bly an  honor  to  his  race.  He  had  built  hunself  a  coun- 
try-seat within  a  few  miles  of  his  native  town,  and  there 
spent  such  portions  of  his  time  as  could  be  spared  from 
public  service  in  the  display  of  every  grace  and  virtue  — 
as  a  newspaper  phrased  it,  on  the  eve  of  an  election  — 
befitting  the  Christian,  the  good  citizen,  the  horticultu- 
rist, and  the  gentleman. 

There  were  few  of  the  Pyncheons  left  to  sun  them- 
selves in  the  glow  of  the  Judge's  prosperity.  In  respect 
to  natural  increase,  the  breed  had  not  thriven ;  it  ap- 
peared rather  to  be  dying  out.  The  only  members  of 
the  family  known  to  be  extant  were,  first,  the  Judge  him- 
self, and  a  single  surviving  son,  who  was  now  travelling 
in  Europe ;  next,  the  thirty  years'  prisoner,  already 
alluded  to,  and  a  sister  of  the  latter,  who  occupied,  in 
an  extremely  retired  manner,  the  House  of  the  Seven 


THE    OLD    PYNCHEON    FAMILY.  33 

Gables,  in  which  she  had  a  life-estate  by  the  will  of  the 
old  bachelor.  She  was  understood  to  be  wretchedly  poor, 
and  seemed  to  make  it  her  choice  to  remain  so ;  inas- 
much as  her  affluent  cousin,  the  Judge,  had  repeatedly 
offered  her  all  the  comforts  of  life,  either  in  the  old  man- 
sion or  his  own  modern  residence.  The  last  and  young- 
est Pyncheon  was  a  little  country-girl  of  seventeen,  the 
daughter  of  another  of  the  Judge's  cousins,  who  had 
married  a  young  woman  of  no  family  or  property,  and 
died  early,  and  in  poor  circumstances.  His  widow  had 
recently  taken  another  husband. 

As  for  Matthew  Maule's  posterity,  it  was  supposed 
now  to  be  extinct.  For  a  very  long  period  after  the 
witchcraft  delusion,  however,  the  Maules  had  continued 
to  inhabit  the  town  where  their  progenitor  had  suffered 
so  unjust  a  death.  To  all  appearance,  they  were  a  quiet, 
honest,  well-meaning  race  of  people,  cherishing  no  malice 
against  individuals  or  the  public,  for  the  wrong  which 
had  been  done  them ;  or  if,  at  their  own  fireside^  they 
transmitted,  from  father  to  child,  any  hostile  recollection 
of  the  wizard's  fate,  and  their  lost  patrimony,  it  was 
never  acted  upon,  nor  openly  expressed.  Nor  would  it 
have  been  singular  had  they  ceased  to  remember  that 
the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  was  resting  its  heavy 
framework  on  a  foundation  that  was  rightfully  their 
own.  There  is  something  so  massive,  stable,  and  almost 
irresistibly  imposing  in  the  exterior  presentment  of  es- 
tablished rank  and  great  possessions,  that  their  very 
existence  seems  to  give  them  a  right  to  exist ;  at  least, 
so  excellent  a  counterfeit  of  right,  that  few  poor  and 
humble  men  have  moral  force  enough  to  question  it, 
even  in  their  secret  minds.  Such  is  the  case  now,  after 
80  many  ancient  prejudices  have  been  overthrown ;  and 
it  was  far  more  so  in  ante-Revolutionary  days,  when  the 


34    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

aristocracy  could  venture  to  be  proud,  and  the  low  were 
content  to  be  abased.  Thus  the  Maules,  at  all  events, 
kept  their  resentments  within  their  own  breasts.  They 
were  generally  poverty-stricken ;  always  plebeian  and 
obscure  ;  working  with  unsuccessful  diligence  at  handi- 
crafts ;  labormg  on  the  wharves,  or  following  the  sea,  as 
sailors  before  the  mast ;  Hvmg  here  and  there  about  the 
town,  in  hired  tenements,  and  coming  finally  to  the  alms- 
house, as  the  natural  home  of  their  old  age.  At  last, 
after  creeping,  as  it  were,  for  such  a  length  of  time, 
along  the  utmost  verge  of  the  opaque  puddle  of  obscurity, 
they  had  taken  that  downright  plunge,  which,  sooner  or 
later,  is  the  destiny  of  all  famihes,  whether  princely  or 
plebeian.  Tor  thirty  years  past,  neither  town-record, 
nor  gravestone,  nor  the  directory,  nor  the  knowledge  or 
memory  of  man,  bore  any  trace  of  Matthew  Maule's  de- 
scendants. His  blood  might  possibly  exist  elsewhere ; 
here,  where  its  lowly  current  could  be  traced  so  far  back, 
it  had  ceased  to  keep  an  onward  course. 

So  long  as  any  of  the  race  were  to  be  found,  they  had 
been  marked  out  fi'om  other  men  —  not  strikingly,  nor 
as  with  a  sharp  line,  but  with  an  effect  that  was  felt, 
rather  than  spoken  of — by  an  hereditary  character  of 
reserve.  Their  companions,  or  those  who  endeavored 
to  become  such,  grew  conscious  of  a  circle  round  about 
the  Maules,  within  the  sanctity  or  the  spell  of  which,  in 
spite  of  an  exterior  of  suflacient  frankness  and  good- 
fellowship,  it  was  impossible  for  any  man  to  step.  It 
was  this  indefinable  peculiarity,  perhaps,  that,  by  in- 
sulating them  from  human  aid,  kept  them  always  so 
unfortunate  in  life.  It  certainly  operated  to  prolong,  in 
their  case,  and  to  confirm  to  them,  as  their  only  inher- 
itance, those  feelings  of  repugnance  and  superstitious 
terror  with  which  the  people  of  the  town,  even  after 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       35 

awakening  from  their  frenzy,  continued  to  regard  the 
memory  of  the  reputed  witches.  The  mantle,  or  rather 
the  ragged  cloak,  of  old  Matthew  Maule,  had  fallen  upon 
his  children.  They  were  half  believed  to  inherit  mys- 
terious attributes;  the  family  eye  was  said  to  possess 
strange  power.  Among  other  good-for-nothing  proper- 
ties and  privileges,  one  was  especially  assigned  them: 
that  of  exercising  an  influence  over  people's  dreams.  The 
Pyncheons,  if  all  stories  were  true,  haughtily  as  they  bore 
themselves  m  the  noonday  streets  of  their  native  town, 
were  no  better  than  bond-servants  to  these  plebeian 
Maules,  on  entering  the  topsy-turvy  commonwealth  of 
sleep.  Modern  pyschology,  it  may  be,  will  endeavor  to 
reduce  these  alleged  necromancies  within  a  system,  in- 
stead of  rejecting  thcDi  as  altogether  fabulous. 

A  descriptive  paragraph  or  two,  treating  of  the  seven- 
gabled  mansion  in  its  more  recent  aspect,  will  bring  this 
preliminary  chapter  to  a  close.  The  street  in  which  it 
upreared  its  venerable  peaks  has  long  ceased  to  be  a 
fasliionable  quarter  of  the  town ;  so  that,  though  the  old 
edifice  was  surrounded  by  habitations  of  modern  date, 
they  were  mostly  small,  built  entirely  of  wood,  and  typi- 
cal of  the  most  plodding  uniformity  of  common  life. 
Doubtless,  however,  the  whole  story  of  human  existence 
may  be  latent  in  each  of  them,  but  with  no  picturesque- 
ness,  externally,  that  can  attract  the  imagination  or  sym- 
pathy to  seek  it  there.  But  as  for  the  old  structure  of 
our  story,  its  white-oark  frame,  and  its  boards,  shingles, 
and  crumbling  plaster,  and  even  the  huge,  clustered 
chimney  in  the  midst,  seemed  to  constitute  only  the 
least  and  meanest  part  of  its  reality.  So  much  of  man- 
kind's varied  experience  had  passed  there,  —  so  much 
had  been  suffered,  and  something,  too,  enjoyed, — that 
the  very  timbers  were  oozy,  as  with  the  moisture  of  a 


86    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

heart.     It  was  itself  like  a  great  human  heart,  Avith  a  life 
of  its  own,  and  full  of  rich  and  sombre  reminiscences. 

The  deep  projection  of  the  second  story  gave  the  house 
such  a  meditative  look,  that  you  could  not  pass  it  with- 
out the  idea  that  it  had  secrets  to  keep,  and  an  eventful 
history  to  moralize  upon.  In  front,  just  on  the  edge  of 
the  unpaved  sidewalk,  grew  the  Pyncheon  Elm,  which, 
in  reference  to  such  trees  as  one  usually  meets  with, 
might  well  be  termed  gigantic.  It  had  been  planted  by 
a  great-grandson  of  the  first  Pyncheon,  and,  though  now 
fourscore  years  of  age,  or  perhaps  nearer  a  hundred, 
was  still  in  its  strong  and  broad  maturity,  throwing  its 
shadow  from  side  to  side  of  the  street,  overtopping  the 
seven  gables,  and  sweeping  the  whole  black  roof  with  its 
pendent  foliage.  It  gave  beauty  to  the  old  edifice,  and 
seemed  to  make  it  a  part  of  nature.  The  street  having 
been  widened  about  forty  years  ago,  the  front  gable  was 
now  precisely  on  a  line  with  it.  On  either  side  extended 
a  ruinous  wooden  fence,  of  open  lattice-work,  through 
which  could  be  seen  a  grassy  yard,  a-nd,  especially  in  the 
angles  of  the  building,  an  enormous  fertility  of  burdocks, 
with  leaves,  it  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say,  two  or 
three  feet  long.  Behind  the  house  there  appeared  to  be 
a  garden,  which  undoubtedly  had  once  been  extensive, 
but  was  now  mfrmged  upon  by  other  enclosures,  or  shut 
in  by  habitations  and  outbuildings  that  stood  on  another 
street.  It  would  be  an  omission,  triiiing,  mdeed,  but 
unpardonable,  were  we  to  forget  the  green  moss  that  had 
long  since  gathered  over  the  projections  of  the  windows, 
and  on  the  slopes  of  the  roof;  nor  must  we  fail  to  direct 
the  reader's  eye  to  a  crop,  not  of  weeds,  but  flower- 
shrubs,  which  were  growing  aloft  in  the  air,  not  a  great 
way  from  the  chimney,  in  the  nook  between  two  of  the 
gables.     They  were  called  Alice's  Posies.     The  tradition 


THE  OLD  PYNCHEON  FAMILY.       37 

was,  that  a  certain  Alice  Pjiiclkeon  had  flung  up  the 
seeds,  in  sport,  and  that  the  dust  of  the  street  and  the 
dfX'ay  of  the  roof  gradually  formed  a  kind  of  soil  for 
tliorn,  out  of  which  they  grew,  when  Alice  had  long  been 
in  lier  grave.  However  the  flowers  might  have  come 
tliere,  it  was  both  sad  and  sweet  to  observe  how  Nature 
Pidopted  to  herself  this  desolate,  decaying,  gusty,  rusty 
old  house  of  the  Pyncheon  family ;  and  how  the  ever- 
returaing  summer  did  her  best  to  gladden  it  with  tender 
beauty,  and  grew  melancholy  in  the  effort. 

There  is  one  other  feature,  very  essential  to  be  noticed, 
but  which,  we  greatly  fear,  may  damage  any  picturesque 
and  romantic  impression  which  we  have  been  willing  to 
throw  over  our  sketch  of  this  respectable  edifice.  In  the 
front  gable,  under  the  impending  brow  of  the  second  story, 
and  contiguous  to  the  street,  was  a  sliop-door,  divided 
horizontally  in  the  midst,  and  witli  a  window  for  its  upper 
segment,  such  as  is  often  seen  in  dwellings  of  a  somewhat 
ancient  date.  This  same  shop-door  had  -been  a  subject  of 
no  slight  mortification  to  the  present  occupant  of  the 
august  Pyncheon  House,  as  well  as  to  some  of  her  prede- 
cessors. The  matter  is  disagreeably  delicate  to  handle ; 
but,  since  the  reader  must  needs  be  let  into  the  secret,  he 
will  please  to  understand,  that,  about  a  century  ago,  the 
head  of  the  Pyncheons  found  himself  involved  in  serious 
financial  difficulties.  The  fellow  (gentleman,  as  he  styled 
himself)  can  hardly  have  been  other  than  a  spurious  inter- 
loper ;  for,  instead  of  seeking  office  from  the  king  or  the 
royal  governor,  or  urging  his  hereditary  claim  to  Eastern 
lands,  he  bethought  himself  of  no  better  avenue  to  wealth 
than  by  cutting  a  shop-door  through  the  side  of  his  ances- 
tral residence.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  time,  indeed,  for 
merchants  to  store  their  goods  and  transact  business  in 
their  own  dwellings.     But  there  was  something  pitifully 


So    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLE-S. 

small  iu  this  old  Pyucheou's  mode  of  setting  abouc  Lis 
commercial  operations ;  it  was  whispered,  that,  with  his 
own  hands,  all  beruffled  as  thc}^  were,  he  used  to  give 
change  for  a  shilhug,  and  would  turn  a  half-penny  twice 
over,  to  make  sure  that  it  was  a  good  one.  Beyond  all 
question,  he  had  the  blood  of  a  petty  huckster  in  his  veins, 
through  whatever  channel  it  may  have  found  its  way  there. 

Immediately  on  his  death,  the  shop-door  had  been 
locked,  bolted,  and  barred,  and,  down  to  the  period  of 
our  story,  had  probably  never  once  been  opened.  The 
old  counter,  shelves,  and  other  fixtures  of  the  httle  shop 
remained  just  as  he  had  left  them.  It  used  to  be  affirmed, 
that  the  dead  shopkeeper,  iu  a  white  wig,  a  faded  velvet 
coat,  an  apron  at  his  waist,  and  his  ruffles  carefully  turned 
back  from  his  wrists,  might  be  seen  through  the  chinks 
of  the  shutters,  any  night  of  the  year,  ransacking  his  till, 
or  poring  over  the  dingy  pages  of  his  day-book.  From 
the  look  of  unutterable  woe  upon  his  face,  it  appeared  to 
be  his  doom  to  spend  eternity  in  a  vain  effort  to  make  his 
accounts  balance. 

And  now  —  in  a  very  humble  way,  as  will  be  seen  — 
we  proceed  to  open  our  narrative. 


II. 


THE  LITTLE  SHOP-WINDOW. 


nils 


T  still  lacked  half  an  hour  of  sunrise,  when  Miss 
Hepzibah  Pyncheon  —  we  will  not  say  awoke; 
it  being  doubtful  whether  the  poor  lady  had  so 
much  as  closed  her  eyes,  during  the  brief  night  of  mid- 
summer —  but,  at  all  events,  arose  from  her  soHtary  pil- 
low, and  began  what  it  would  be  mockery  to  term  the 
adornment  of  her  person.  Far  from  us  be  the  indecorum 
of  assistnig,  even  in  imagination,  at  a  maiden  lady's  toilet ! 
Our  story  must  therefore  await  Miss  Hepzibah  at  the 
threshold  of  her  chamber ;  only  presuming,  meanwhile,  to 
note  some  of  the  heavy  sighs  that  labored  from  her  bosom, 
with  httle  restraint  as  to  their  lugubrious  depth  and  vol- 
ume of  sound,  inasmuch  as  they  could  be  audible  to  no- 
body, save  a  disembodied  listener  like  ourself.  The  Old 
Maid  was  alone  in  the  old  house.  Alone,  except  for  a 
certain  respectable  and  orderly  young  man,  an  artist  in 
the  daguerreotype  line,  who,  for  about  three  months  back, 
had  been  a  lodger  in  a  remote  gable,  —  quite  a  house  by 
itself,  indeed,  —  with  locks,  bolts,  and  oaken  bars  on  all 
the  intervening  doors.  Inaudible,  consequently,  were 
poor  Miss  Hepzibah's  gusty  sighs.  Inaudible,  the  creak- 
ing joints  of  her  stiffened  knees,  as  she  knelt  down  by 


40    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  bedside.  And  inaudible,  too,  by  mortal  ear,  but 
heard  with  all-comprehendmg  love  and  pity  in  the  farthest 
heaven,  that  almost  agony  of  prayer  —  now  wliispered, 
now  a  groan,  now  a  struggling  silence  —  wherewith  she 
besought  the  Divine  assistance  through  the  day !  Evi- 
dently, this  is  to  be  a  day  of  more  than  ordinary  trial  to 
Miss  Hepzibah,  who,  for  above  a  quarter  of  a  century 
gone  by,  has  dwelt  in  strict  seclusion,  taking  no  part  in 
the  business  of  life,  and  just  as  little  in  its  intercourse 
and  pleasures.  Not  with  such  fervor  prays  the  torpid 
recluse,  looking  forward  to  the  cold,  sunless,  stagnant 
calm  of  a  day  that  is  to  be  like  innumerable  yesterdays  ! 

The  maiden  lady's  devotions  are  concluded.  Will  she 
now  issue  forth  over  the  threshold  of  our  story  ?  Not 
yet,  by  many  moments.  First,  every  drawer  in  the  tall, 
old-fashioned  bureau  is  to  be  opened,  with  difficulty,  and 
with  a  succession  of  spasmodic  jerks ;  then,  all  must 
close  again,  with  the  same  fidgety  reluctance.  There  is 
a  rustling  of  stiff  silks ;  a  tread  of  backward  and  for- 
ward footsteps,  to  and  fro  across  the  chamber.  We 
suspect  Miss  Hepzibah,  moreover,  of  taking  a  step  up- 
ward into  a  chair,  in  order  to  give  heedful  regard  to  her 
appearance  on  all  sides,  and  at  full  length,  in  the  oval, 
dingy-framed  toilet-glass,  that  hangs  above  her  table. 
Truly  !  well,  indeed  !  who  would  have  thought  it !  Is 
all  this  precious  time  to  be  lavished  on  the  matutinal 
repair  and  beautifying  of  an  elderly  person,  who  never 
goes  abroad,  whom  nobody  ever  visits,  and  from  whom, 
when  she  shall  have  done  her  utmost,  it  were  the  best 
charity  to  turn  one's  eyes  another  way  ? 

Now  she  is  almost  ready.  Let  us  pardon  her  one  other 
pause ;  for  it  is  given  to  the  sole  sentiment,  or,  we  might 
better  say,  —  heightened  and  rendered  intense,  as  it  has 
been,  by  sorrow  and  seclusion,  —  to  the  strong  passion  of 


THE    LITTLE    SHOP-WINDOW.  41 

her  life.  We  heard  the  turning  of  a  key  in  a  small  lock ; 
she  has  opened  a  secret  drawer  of  an  escritoire,  and  is 
probably  looking  at  a  certain  miniature,  done  in  Mal- 
bone's  most  perfect  style,  and  representing  a  face  worthy 
of  no  less  delicate  a  pencil.  It  was  once  our  good  for- 
tune to  see  this  picture.  It  is  a  likeness  of  a  young 
man,  in  a  silken  dressing-gown  of  an  old  fashion,  the  soft 
richness  of  which  is  well  adapted  to  the  countenance  of 
revery,  with  its  full,  tender  lips,  and  beautiful  eyes,  that 
seem  to"  indicate  not  so  much  capacity  of  thought,  as 
gentle  and  voluptuous  emotion.  Of  the  possessor  of  such 
features  we  shall  have  a  right  to  ask  nothing,  except  that 
he  would  take  the  rude  world  easily,  and  make  himself 
happy  in  it.  Can  it  have  been  an  early  lover  of  Miss 
Hepzibah  ?  No  ;  she  never  had  a  lover  —  poor  thmg, 
how  could  she?  —  nor  ever  knew,  by  her  own  experi- 
ence, what  love  technically  means.  And  yet,  her  undying 
faith  and  trust,  her  fresh  remembrance,  and  continual 
devotedness  towards  the  original  of  that  miniature,  have 
been  the  only  substance  for  her  heart  to  feed  upon. 

She  seems  to  have  put  aside  the  miniature,  and  is 
standing  again  before  the  toilet-glass.  There  are  tears 
to  be  wiped  off.  A  few  more  footsteps  to  and  fro  ;  and 
here,  at  last,  —  with  another  pitiful  sigh,  like  a  gust  of 
chill,  damp  wind  out  of  a  long-closed  vault,  the  door 
of  which  has  accidentally  been  set  ajar,  —  here  comes 
Miss  Hepzibah  Pyncheon!  Forth  she  steps  into  the 
dusky,  time-darkened  passage  ;  a  tall  figure,  clad  in  black 
silk,  with  a  long  and  shrunken  waist,  feeling  her  way 
towards  the  stairs  like  a  near-sighted  person,  as  in  truth 
she  is. 

The  sun,  meanwhile,  if  not  already  above  the  horizon, 
was  ascending  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  verge.  A  few 
clouds,  floating  high  upward,  caught  some  of  the  earliest 


42    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

light,  and  threw  down  its  golden  gleam  on  the  wmdoTTS 
of  all  the  houses  in  the  street,  not  forgetting  the  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables,  which  —  many  such  sunrises  as  it 
had  witnessed  —  looked  cheerfully  at  the  present  one. 
The  reflected  radiance  served  to  show,  pretty  distinctly, 
the  aspect  and  arrangement  of  the  room  which  Hepzibah 
entered,  after  descending  the  stairs.  It  was  a  low- 
studded  room,  with  a  beam  across  the  ceiling,  panelled 
with  dark  wood,  and  having  a  large  chimney-piece,  set 
round  with  pictured  tiles,  but  now  closed  by  an  iron  fire- 
board,  through  which  ran  the  funnel  of  a  modern  stove. 
There  was  a  carpet  on  the  floor,  originally  of  rich  tex- 
ture, but  so  worn  and  faded,  in  these  latter  years,  that  its 
once  brilliant  figure  had  quite  vanished  into  one  indis- 
tinguishable hue.  In  the  way  of  furniture,  there  were 
two  tables :  one,  constructed  with  perplexing  intricacy 
and  exhibiting  as  many  feet  as  a  centipede ;  the  other, 
most  delicately  wi'ought,  with  four  long  and  slender  legs, 
so  apparently  fi'ail  that  it  was  almost  incredible  what  a 
length  of  time  the  ancient  tea-table  had  stood  upon  them. 
Half  a  dozen  chairs  stood  about  the  room,  straight  and 
stiff,  and  so  ingeniously  contrived  for  the  discomfort  of 
the  human  person  that  they  were  irksome  even  to  sight, 
and  conveyed  the  ugliest  possible  idea  of  the  state  of 
society  to  which  they  could  have  been  adapted.  One 
exception  there  was,  however,  in  a  very  antique  elbow- 
chair,  with  a  high  back,  carved  elaborately  in  oak,  and  a 
roomy  depth  within  its  arms,  that  made  up,  by  its  spacious 
comprehensiveness,  for  the  lack  of  any  of  those  artistic 
curves  which  abound  in  a  modem  chair. 

As  for  ornamental  articles  of  furniture,  we  recollect 
but  two,  if  such  they  may  be  called.  One  was  a  map  of 
the  Pyncheon  temtory  at  the  eastward,  not  engraved, 
but  the  handiwork  of  some  skilful  old  draughtsman,  and 


THE   LITTLE    SHOP-WINDOW.  43 

grotesquely  illuminated  witli  pictures  of  Indians  and  wild 
beasts,  among  wliicli  was  seen  a  lion ;  the  natural  history 
of  the  region  being  as  little  known  as  its  geography, 
which  was  put  down  most  fantastically  awry.  The  other 
adornment  was  the  portrait  of  old  Colonel  Pyncheon,  at 
two  thirds  length,  representing  the  stern  features  of  a 
Puritanic-looking  personage,  in  a  skull-cap,  with  a  laced 
band  and  a  grizzly  beard ;  holdmg  a  Bible  with  one  hand, 
and  in  the  other  uplifting  an  iron  sword-hilt.  The  latter 
object,  being  more  successfully  depicted  %  the  artist, 
stood  out  in  far  greater  prominence  than  the  sacred  vol- 
ume. Face  to  face  with  this  picture,  on  entering  the 
apartment,  Miss  Hepzibah  Pyncheon  came  to  a  pause ; 
regarding  it  with  a  singular  scowl,  a  strange  contortion 
of  the  brow,  which,  by  people  who  did  not  know  her^ 
would  probably  have  been  interpreted  as  an  expression 
of  bitter  anger  and  ill-will.  But  it  was  no  such  thing. 
She,  in  fact,  felt  a  reverence  for  the  pictured  visage,  of 
which  only  a  far-descended  and  time-stricken  virghi  could 
be  susceptible ;  and  this  forbidding  scowl  was  the  inno- 
cent result  of  her  near-sightedness,  and  an  eifort  so  to 
concentrate  her  powers  of  vision  as  to  substitute  a  firm 
outline  of  the  object  instead  of  a  vague  one. 

We  must  linger  a  moment  on  this  unfortunate  expres- 
sion of  poor  Hepzibah's  brow.  Her  scowl,  —  as  the 
world,  or  such  part  of  it  as  sometimes  caught  a  transi- 
tory glimpse  of  her  at  the  window,  wickedly  persisted  in 
calHng  it,  —  her  scowl  had  done  Miss  Hepzibah  a  very 
ill  office,  in  establishing  her  character  as  an  ill-tempered 
old  maid ;  nor  does  it  appear  improbable,  that,  by  often 
gazing  at  herself  in  a  dim  looking-glass,  and  perpetually 
encountering  her  own  frown  within  its  ghostly  sphere, 
she  had  been  led  to  interpret  the  expression  almost  as 
unjustly  as  the  world  did.     "How  miserably  cross  I 


44;    THE  HOUSE  OF    THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

look !  "  slie  must  often  have  whispered  to  herself ;  and 
ultimately  have  fancied  herself  so,  by  a  sense  of  inevita- 
ble doom.  But  her  heart  never  frowned.  It  was  natu- 
rally tender,  sensitive,  and  full  of  Kttle  tremors  and 
palpitations ;  all  of  which  weaknesses  it  retained,  while 
her  visage  was  growing  so  perversely  stem,  and  even 
fierce.  Nor  had  Hepzibah  ever  any  hardihood,  except 
what  came  from  the  very  warmest  nook  in  her  affec- 
tions. 

All  this  time,  however,  we  are  loitering  faint-heartedly 
on  the  threshold  of  our  story.  In  very  truth,  we  have 
an  invincible  reluctance  to  disclose  what  Miss  Hepzibah 
Pyncheon  was  about  to  do. 

It  has  already  been  observed,  that,  in  the  basement 
story  of  the  gable  fronting  on  the  street,  an  unworthy 
ancestor,  nearly  a  century  ago,  had  fitted  up  a  shop. 
Ever  since  the  old  gentleman  retired  from  trade,  and  fell 
asleep  under  his  coffin-lid,  not  only  the  shop-door,  but 
the  inner  arrangements,  had  been  suffered  to  remain  un- 
changed ;  while  the  dust  of  ages  gathered  inch-deep  over 
the  shelves  and  counter,  and  partly  filled  an  old  pair  of 
scales,  as  if  it  were  of  value  enough  to  be  weighed.  It 
treasured  itself  up,  too,  in  the  half-open  till,  where  there 
still  lingered  a  base  sixpence,  worth  neither  more  nor  less 
than  the  hereditary  pride  which  had  here  been  put  to 
shame.  Such  had  been  the  state  and  condition  of  the  little 
shop  in  old  Hepzibah' s  childhood,  when  she  and  her 
brother  used  to  play  at  hide-and-seek  in  its  forsaken  pre- 
cincts.   So  it  had  remained,  until  within  a  few  days  past. 

But  now,  though  the  shop-window  was  still  closely 
curtained  from  the  public  gaze,  a  remarkable  change  had 
taken  place  in  its  interior.  The  rich  and  heavy  festoons 
of  cobweb,  which  it  had  cost  a  long  ancestral  succession 
of  spiders  their  life's  labor  to  spin  and  weave,  had  been 


THE    LITTLE    SHOP-WINDOW.  45 

carefully  brushed  away  from  the  ceiling.  The  counter, 
shelves,  and  floor  had  all  been  scoured,  and  the  latter 
was  overstrewn  with  fresh  blue  sand.  The  brown  scales, 
too,  had  evidently  undergone  rigid  discipline,  in  an  un- 
availmg  effort  to  rub  off  the  rust,  which,  alas !  had  eaten 
through  and  through  their  substance.  Neither  was  the 
little  old  shop  any  longer  empty  of  merchantable  goods. 
A  curious  eye,  privileged  to  take  an  account  of  stock,  and 
investigate  behind  the  counter,  would  have  discovered  a 
barrel,  —  yea,  two  or  three  barrels  and  half  ditto,  —  one 
containing  flour,  another  apples,  and  a  third,  perhaps, 
Indian  meal.  There  was  likewise  a  square  box  of  pine- 
wood,  full  of  soap  in  bars ;  also,  another  of  the  same 
size,  in  which  were  tallow-candles,  ten  to  the  pound.  A 
small  stock  of  brown  sugar,  some  white  beans  and  split 
peas,  and  a  few  other  commodities  of  low  price,  and  such 
as  are  constantly  in  demand,  made  up  the  bulkier  portion 
of  the  merchandise.  It  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
ghostly  or  phantasmagoric  reflection  of  the  old  shop- 
keeper Pyncheon's  shabbily  provided  shelves,  save  that 
some  of  the  articles  were  of  a  description  and  outward 
form  which  could  hardly  have  been  knoAvn  in  his  day. 
For  instance,  there  was  a  glass  pickle-jar,  filled  with 
fragments  of  Gibraltar  rock  ;  not,  indeed,  splinters  of  the 
veritable  stone  foundation  of  the  famous  fortress,  but  bits 
of  delectable  candy,  neatly  done  up  in  white  paper.  Jim 
Crow,  moreover,  was  seen  executing  his  world-renowned 
dance,  in  gingerbread.  A  party  of  leaden  dragoons 
were  galloping  along  one  of  the  shelves,  in  equipments 
and  uniform  of  modern  cut ;  and  there  were  some  sugar 
figures,  with  no  strong  resemblance  to  the  humaniiy  of 
any  epoch,  but  less  unsatisfactorily  representing  our  own 
fashions  than  those  of  a  hundred  years  ago.  Another 
phenomenon,  still  more  strikingly  modern,  was  a  package 


46    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

of  lucifer  matciies,  which,  in  old  times,  would  have  been 
thought  actually  to  borrow  their  instantaneous  flame  from 
the  nether  fires  of  Tophet. 

In  short,  to  bring  the  matter  at  once  to  a  point,  it  was 
incontrovertibly  evident  that  somebody  had  taken  the  shop 
and  fixtures  of  the  long-retired  and  forgotten  Mr,  Pyn- 
cheon,  and  was  about  to  renew  the  enterprise  of  that  de- 
parted worthy,  with  a  different  set  of  customers.  Wlio 
could  this  bold  adventurer  be  ?  And,  of  all  places  in  the 
world,  why  had  he  chosen  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables 
as  the  scene  of  his  commercial  speculations  ? 

We  return  to  the  elderly  maiden.  She  at  length  with- 
drew her  eyes  fi*om  the  dark  countenance  of  the  Colonel's 
portrait,  heaved  a  sigh,  —  indeed,  her  breast  was  a  very 
cave  of  jEoIus,  that  morning,  —  and  stept  across  the 
room  on  tiptoe,  as  is  the  customary  gait  of  elderly  wo- 
men. Passing  through  an  intervening  passage,  she  opened 
a  door  that  communicated  with  the  shop,  just  now  so 
elaborately  described.  Owing  to  the  projection  of  the 
upper  story  —  and  still  more  to  the  thick  shadow  of 
the  Pyncheon  Elm,  which  stood  almost  directly  in  front 
of  the  gable  —  the  twilight,  here,  was  still  as  much  akin 
to  night  as  morning.  Another  heavy  sigh  from  Miss 
Hepzibah !  After  a  moment's  pause  on  the  threshold, 
peering  towards  the  window  with  her  near-sighted  scowl, 
as  if  frowning  down  some  bitter  enemy,  she  suddenly 
projected  herself  into  the  shop.  The  haste,  and,  as  it 
were,  the  galvanic  impulse  of  the  movement,  were  really 
quite  startling. 

Nervously  —  in  a  sort  of  frenzy,  we  might  almost  say 
—  she  began  to  busy  herself  in  arranging  some  children's 
playthings,  and  other  little  wares,  on  the  shelves  and  at 
the  shop-window.  In  the  aspect  of  this  dark-arrayed, 
pale-faced,  lady-like  old  figure  there  was  a  deeply  tragic 


THE    LITTLE    SHOP-WINDOW.  47 

character,  that  contrasted  irreconcilably  with  the  ludi- 
crous pettiness  of  her  employment.  It  seemed  a  queer 
anomaly,  that  so  gaunt  and  dismal  a  personage  should 
take  a  toy  in  hand ;  a  miracle,  that  the  toy  did  not  vanish 
in  her  grasp ;  a  miserably  absurd  idea,  that  she  should 
go  on  perplexing  her  stiff  and  sombre  intellect  with  the 
question  how  to  tempt  little  boys  into  her  premises! 
Yet  such  is  undoubtedly  her  object.  Now  she  places  a 
gingerbread  elephant  against  the  window,  but  with  so 
tremulous  a  touch  that  it  tumbles  upon  the  floor,  with 
the  dismemberment  of  three  legs  and  its  trunk ;  it  has 
ceased  to  be  an  elephant,  and  has  become  a  few  bits  of 
musty  gingerbread.  There,  again,  she  has  upset  a  tum- 
bler of  marbles,  all  of  which  roll  different  ways,  and  each 
individual  marble,  devil-directed,  into  the  most  difficult 
obscurity  that  it  can  find.  Heaven  help  our  poor  old  Hep- 
zibah,  and  forgive  us  for  taking  a  ludicrous  view  of  her 
position !  As  her  rigid  and  rusty  frame  goes  down  upon 
its  hands  and  knees,  in  quest  of  the  absconding  marbles, 
we  positively  feel  so  much  the  more  inclined  to  shed 
tears  of  sympathy,  from  the  very  fact  that  we  must  needs 
turn  aside  and  laugh  at  her.  For  here,  —  and  if  we  fail  to 
impress  it  suitably  upon  the  reader,  it  is  our  own  fault, 
not  that  of  the  theme,  — here  is  one  of  the  truest  points  of 
melancholy  interest  that  occur  in  ordinary  life.  It  was 
the  final  throe  of  what  called  itself  old  gentility.  A  lady 
—  who  had  fed  herself  from  childhood  with  the  shadowy 
food  of  aristocratic  reminiscences,  and  whose  religion  it 
was  that  a  lady's  hand  soils  itself  irremediably  by  doing 
aught  for  bread  —  this  born  lady,  after  sixty  years  of 
narrowing  means,  is  fain  to  step  down  from  her  pedestal 
of  imaginary  rank.  Poverty,  treading  closely  at  her 
heels  for  a  lifetime,  has  come  up  with  her  at  last.  She 
must  cam  her  own  food,  or  starve  !     And  we  have  stolen 


48    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

upon  Miss  Hepzibah  Pyncbeou,  too  irreverently,  at  the 
instant  of  time  wlien  the  patrician  lady  is  to  be  trans- 
formed into  the  plebeian  woman. 

In  this  republican  couutry,  amid  the  fluctuating  waves 
of  our  social  life,  somebody  is  always  at  the  drowning- 
point.  The  tragedy  is  enacted  with  as  continual  a  repe- 
tition as  that  of  a  popular  drama  on  a  holiday;  and, 
nevertheless,  is  felt  as  deeply,  perhaps,  as  when  an 
hereditary  noble  sinks  below  his  order.  More  deeply; 
since,  with  us,  rank  is  the  grosser  substance  of  weaUh 
and  a  splendid  establishment,  and  has  no  spiritual  ex- 
istence after  the  death  of  these,  but  dies  hopelessly  along 
with  them.  And,  therefore,  since  we  have  been  unfortu- 
nate enough  to  introduce  our  heroine  at  so  inauspicious 
a  juncture,  we  would  entreat  for  a  mood  of  due  solemnity 
in  the  spectators  of  her  fate.  Let  us  behold,  in  poor 
Hepzibah,  the  immemorial  lady,  —  two  hundred  years 
old,  on  this  side  of  the  water,  and  thrice  as  many  on  the 
other, — with  her  antique  portraits,  pedigrees,  coats  of 
arms,  records  and  traditions,  and  her  claim,  as  jomt 
heiress,  to  that  prmceiy  territory  at  the  eastward,  no 
longer  a  wilderness,  but  a  populous  fertihty,  —  born,  too, 
in  Pyncheon  Street,  under  the  Pyncheon  Elm,  and  in  the 
Pyncheon  House,  where  she  has  spent  all  her  days,  — 
reduced  now,  in  that  very  house,  to  be  the  hucksteress 
of  a  cent-shop. 

This  business  of  setting  up  a  petty  shop  is  almost  the 
only  resource  of  women,  in  circumstances  at  all  similar 
to  those  of  our  unfortunate  recluse.  With  her  near- 
sightedness, and  those  tremulous  fingers  of  hers,  at  once 
inflexible  and  delicate,  she  could  not  be  a  seamstress; 
although  her  sampler,  of  fifty  years  gone  by,  exhibited 
some  of  the  most  recondite  specimens  of  ornamental 
needlework.     A  school  for  little  children  had  been  often 


THE    LITTLE    SHOP-WINDOW.  49 

in  her  thoughts ;  and,  at  one  time,  she  had  begun  a  review 
of  her  early  studies  in  the  New  England  Primer,  with  a 
view  to  prepare  herself  for  the  office  of  instructress- 
But  the  love  of  children  had  never  been  quickened  in 
Hepzibah's  heart,  and  was  now  torpid,  if  not  extinct; 
she  watched  the  httle  people  of  the  neighborhood  from 
her  chamber-window,  and  doubted  whether  she  could 
tolerate  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  them.  Be- 
sides, in  our  day,  the  very  ABC  has  become  a  science, 
greatly  too  abstruse  to  be  any  longer  taught  by  pointing 
a  pm  from  letter  to  letter.  A  modern  child  could  teach 
old  Hepzibah  more  than  old  Hepzibah  could  teach  the 
child.  So  —  with  many  a  cold,  deep  heart-quake  at  the 
idea  of  at  last  coming  into  sordid  contact  with  the  world, 
from  which  she  had  so  long  kept  aloof,  while  every  added 
day  of  seclusion  had  rolled  another  stone  against  the 
cavern-door  of  her  hermitage  —  the  poor  thing  bethought 
herself  of  the  ancient  shop-window,  the  rusty  scales,  and 
dusty  till.  She  might  have  held  back  a  little  longer; 
but  another  circumstance,  not  yet  hinted  at,  had  some- 
what hastened  her  decision.  Her  humble  preparations, 
therefore,  were  duly  made,  and  the  enterprise  was  now 
to  be  commenced.  Nor  was  she  entitled  to  complain  of 
any  remarkable  singularity  in  her  fate ;  for,  in  the  town 
of  her  nativity,  we  might  point  to  several  little  shops  of 
a  similar  description ;  some  of  them  in  houses  as  ancient 
as  that  of  the  Seven  Gables ;  and  one  or  two,  it  may  be, 
where  a  decayed  gentlewoman  stands  behind  the  counter, 
as  grim  an  image  of  family  pride  as  Miss  Hepzibah  Pyn- 
cheon  herself. 

It  was  overpoweringly  ridiculous  —  we  must  honestly 
confess  it  —  the  deportment  of  the  maiden  lady  while 
setting  her  shop  in  order  for  the  public  eye.  She  stole 
on  tiptoe  to  the  window,  as  cautiously  as  if  she  conceived 

3  D 


50    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

some  bloody-minded  villain  to  be  watching  behind  the 
elm-tree,  with  intent  to  take  her  life.  Stretching  out  her 
long,  lank  arm,  she  put  a  paper  of  pearl  buttons,  a  Jew's- 
harp,  or  whatever  the  small  article  might  be,  in  its  des- 
tined place,  and  straightway  vanished  back  into  the  dusk, 
as  if  the  world  need  never  hope  for  another  glimpse  of 
her.  It  might  have  been  fancied,  indeed,  that  she  ex- 
pected to  minister  to  the  wants  of  the  community  unseen, 
like  a  disembodied  divinity,  or  enchantress,  holding  forth 
her  bargains  to  the  reverential  and  awe-stricken  pur- 
chaser, in  an  invisible  hand.  But  Hepzibah  had  no  such 
flattering  dream.  She  was  well  aware  that  she  must 
ultimately  come  forward,  and  stand  revealed  in  her 
proper  individuality;  but,  Hke  other  sensitive  persons, 
she  could  not  bear  to  be  observed  in  the  gradual  process, 
and  chose  rather  to  flash  forth  on  the  world's  astonished 
gaze  at  once. 

The  inevitable  moment  was  not  much  longer  to  be 
delayed.  The  sunshine  might  now  be  seen  steahng  down 
the  front  of  the  opposite  house,  from  the  windows  of 
which  came  a  reflected  gleam,  struggling  through  the 
boughs  of  the  elm-tree,  aud  enlightening  the  interior  of 
the  shop  more  distinctly  than  heretofore.  The  town 
appeared  to  be  waking  up.  A  baker's  cart  had  already 
rattled  through  the  street,  chasing  away  the  latest  vestige 
of  night's  sanctity  with  the  jingle-jangle  of  its  dissonant 
bells.  A  milkman  was  distributing  the  contents  of  his 
cans  from  door  to  door ;  and  the  harsh  peal  of  a  fisher- 
man's conch-shell  was  heard  far  off,  around  the  corner. 
None  of  these  tokens  escaped  Hepzibah's  notice.  The 
moment  had  arrived.  To  delay  longer  would  be  only  to 
lengthen  out  her  misery.  Nothing  remained,  except  to 
take  down  the  bar  from  the  shop-door,  leaving  the  en- 
trance free  —  more  than  free  —  welcome,  as  if  all  were 


THE    LITTLE    SHOP- WINDOW.  51 

household  friends  —  to  every  passer-by,  whose  eyes  might 
be  attracted  by  the  commodities  at  the  wuidow.  This 
last  act  Hepzibah  now  performed,  letting  the  bar  fall 
with  what  smote  upon  her  excited  nerves  as  a  most 
astounding  clatter.  Then  —  as  if  the  only  barrier  be- 
twixt herself  and  the  world  had  been  thrown  down,  and 
a  flood  of  evil  consequences  would  come  tumbling  through 
the  gap  —  she  fled  into  the  inner  parlor,  threw  herself 
into  the  ancestral  elbow-chair,  and  wept. 

Our  miserable  old  Hepzibah  !  It  is  a  heavy  annoyance 
to  a  writer,  who  endeavors  to  represent  nature,  its  va- 
rious attitudes  and  circumstances,  in  a  reasonably  correct 
outhne  and  true  coloring,  that  so  much  of  the  mean  and 
ludicrous  should  be  hopelessly  mixed  up  with  the  purest 
pathos  which  life  anywhere  supplies  to  him.  What  tragic 
dignity,  for  example,  can  be  wrought  into  a  scene  like 
this  !  How  can  we  elevate  our  history  of  retribution  for 
the  sin  of  long  ago,  when,  as  one  of  our  most  prominent 
figures,  we  are  compelled  to  introduce — not  a  young  and 
lovely  woman,  nor  even  the  stately  remains  of  beauty, 
storm- shattered  by  affliction  —  but  a  gaunt,  sallow,  rusty- 
jointed  maiden,  in  a  long-waisted  silk  gown,  and  with  the 
strange  horror  of  a  turban  on  her  head !  Her  visage  is 
not  even  ugly.  It  is  redeemed  from  insignificance  only 
by  the  contraction  of  her  eyebrows  into  a  near-sighted 
scowl.  And,  finally,  her  great  life-trial  seems  to  be,  that, 
after  sixty  years  of  idleness,  she  finds  it  convenient  to  earn 
comfortable  bread  by  setting  up  a  shop  in  a  small  way. 
Nevertheless,  if  we  look  through  all  the  heroic  fortunes 
of  mankind,  we  shall  find  this  same  entanglement  of 
something  mean  and  trivial  with  whatever  is  noblest  in 
joy  or  sorrow.  Life  is  made  up  of  marble  and  mud. 
And,  without  all  the  deeper  trust  in  a  comprehensive 
sympathy  above  us,  we  might  hence  be  led  to  suspect  the 


52 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 


insult  of  a  sneer,  as  well  as  an  immitigable  frown,  on  the 
iron  countenance  of  fate.  What  is  called  poetic  insight 
is  the  gift  of  discerning,  in  this  sphere  of  strangely 
mingled  elements,  the  beauty  and  the  majesty  which  are 
compelled  to  assume  a  garb  so  sordid. 


in. 


THE  FIRST  CUSTOMER. 


rSS  HEPZIBAH  PYNCHEON  sat  in  the  oak- 
en  elbow-chair,  with  her  hands  over  her  face, 
giving  way  to  that  heavy  down-sinkmg  of  the 
heart  which  most  persons  have  experienced,  when  the 
image  of  hope  itself  seems  ponderously  moulded  of  lead, 
on  the  eve  of  an  enterprise  at  once  doubtful  and  momen- 
tous.    She  was  suddenly  startled  by  the  tinkling  alarum 

—  high,  sharp,  and  irregular  —  of  a  little  bell.  The 
maiden  lady  arose  upon  her  feet,  as  pale  as  a  ghost  at 
cock-crow ;  for  she  was  an  enslaved  spirit,  and  this  the 
talisman  to  which  she  owed  obedience.     This  little  bell, 

—  to  speak  in  plainer  terms,  —  being  fastened  over  the 
shop-door,  was  so  contrived  as  to  vibrate  by  means  of  a 
steel  spring,  and  thus  convey  notice  to  the  inner  regions 
of  the  house,  when  any  customer  should  cross  the  thresh- 
old. Its  ugly  and  spiteful  little  din  (heard  now  for  the  first 
time,  perhaps,  since  Hepzibah's  periwigged  predecessor 
had  retired  from  trade)  at  once  set  every  nerve  of  her 
body  in  responsive  and  tumultuous  vibration.  The  crisis 
was  upon  her  !     Her  first  customer  was  at  the  door ! 

Without  giving  herself  time  for  a  second  thought,  she 
rushed  into  the  shop,  pale,  wild,  desperate  in  gesture  and 


54    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

expression,  scowling  portentously,  and  looking  far  better 
qualified  to  do  fierce  battle  with  a  house-breaker  than  to 
stand  smiling  behind  the  counter,  bartering  small  wares 
for  a  copper  recompense.  Any  ordinary  customer,  indeed, 
would  have  turned  his  back  and  fled.  And  yet  there  was 
nothing  fierce  in  Hepzibah's  poor  old  heart ;  nor  had  she, 
at  the  moment,  a  single  bitter  thought  against  the  world 
■  d  large,  or  one  individual  man  or  woman.  She  wished 
ihem  all  well,  but  wished,  too,  that  she  herself  were  done 
with  them,  and  in  her  quiet  grave. 

The  applicant,  by  this  time,  stood  within  the  doorway. 
Coming  freshly,  as  he  did,  out  of  the  morning  hght,  he 
appeared  to  have  brought  some  of  its  cheery  influences 
into  the  shop  along  with  him.  It  was  a  slender  young 
man,  not  more  than  one  or  two  and  twenty  years  old,  with 
rather  a  grave  and  thoughtful  expression  for  his  years, 
but  likewise  a  springy  alacrity  and  vigor.  These  quali- 
ties were  not  only  perceptible,  physically,  in  his  make 
and  motions,  but  made  themselves  felt  almost  immediate- 
ly in  his  character.  A  brown  beard,  not  too  silken  in  its 
texture,  fringed  his  chin,  but  as  yet  without  completely 
hiding  it ;  he  wore  a  short  mustache,  too,  and  his  dark, 
high-featured  countenance  looked  all  the  better  for  these 
natural  ornaments.  As  for  his  dress,  it  was  of  the 
simplest  kind;  a  summer  sack  of  cheap  and  ordinary 
material,  thin  checkered  pantaloons,  and  a  straw  hat,  by 
no  means  of  the  finest  braid.  Oak  Hall  might  have 
supplied  his  entire  equipment.  He  was  chiefly  marked 
as  a  gentleman  —  if  such,  indeed,  he  made  any  claim  to 
be  —  by  the  rather  remarkable  whiteness  and  nicety  of 
his  clean  linen. 

He  met  the  scowl  of  old  Hepzibah  without  apparent 
alarm,  as  having  heretofore  encountered  it,  and  found  it 
harmless. 


THE    FIRST   CUSTOMER.  55 

"  So,  my  dear  Miss  Pyncheon,"  said  the  daguerreo- 
typist,  —  for  it  was  that  sole  other  occupant  of  the  seven- 
gabled  mansian,  —  "I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  not 
shrunk  from  your  good  purpose.  I  merely  look  in  to 
offer  my  best  wishes,  and  to  ask  if  I  can  assist  you  any 
further  in  your  preparations." 

People  in  difficulty  and  distress,  or  in  any  manner  at 
odds  with  the  world,  can  endure  a  vast  amount  of  harsh 
treatment,  and  perhaps  be  only  the  stronger  for  it; 
whereas,  they  give  way  at  once  before  the  simplest  ex- 
pression of  what  they  perceive  to  be  genuine  sympathy. 
So  it  proved  with  poor  Hepzibah ;  for,  when  she  saw  the 
young  man's  smile,  —  looking  so  much  the  brighter  on  a 
thoughtful  face,  —  and  heard  his  kindly  tone,  she  broke 
first  into  a  hysteric  giggle,  and  then  began  to  sob. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Holgrave,"  cried  she,  as  soon  as  she  could 
speak,  "  I  never  can  go  through  with  it !  Never,  never, 
never !  I  wish  I  were  dead,  and  in  th-e  old  family -tomb, 
with  all  my  forefathers  !  With  my  father,  and  my  mother., 
and  my  sister !  Yes,  and  with  my  brother,  who  had  fai 
better  find  me  there  than  here  !  The  world  is  too  chill 
and  hard,  —  and  I  am  too  old,  and  too  feeble,  and  too 
hopeless  ! " 

"  O,  believe  me.  Miss  Hepzibah,"  said  the  young  man, 
quietly,  "  these  feelings  will  not  trouble  you  any  longer, 
after  you  are  once  fairly  in  the  midst  of  your  enterprise. 
They  are  unavoidable  at  this  moment,  standing,  as  you 
do,  on  the  outer  verge  of  your  long  seclusion,  and  peo- 
pling the  world  with  ugly  shapes,  which  you  will  soon 
find  to  be  as  unreal  as  the  giants  and  ogres  of  a  child's 
story-book.  I  find  nothing  so  singular  in  life,  as  that 
everything  appears  to  lose  its  substance,  the  instant  one 
actually  grapples  with  it.  So  it  will  be  with  what  you 
think  so  terrible." 


56    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  But  I  am  a  woman !  "  said  Hepzibah,  piteously. 
"  I  was  going  to  say,  a  lady,  —  but  I  consider  that  as 
past."  s 

"  Well ;  no  matter  if  it  be  past !  "  answered  the  artist, 
a  strange  gleam  of  half-hidden  sarcasm  flashing  through 
the  kindliness  of  his  manner.  "  Let  it  go  !  You  are 
the  better  without  it.  I  speak  frankly,  my  dear  Mis^ 
Pyncheon  !  for  are  we  not  friends  ?  I  look  upon  this  as 
one  of  the  fortunate  days  of  your  life.  It  ends  an  epoch, 
and  begins  one.  Hitherto,  the  life-blood  has  been  grad- 
ually chiUing  in  your  veins  as  you  sat  aloof,  within  your 
circle  of  gentility,  while  the  rest  of  the  world  was  fight- 
ing out  its  battle  with  one  kind  of  necessity  or  another. 
Henceforth,  you  will  at  least  have  the  sense  of  healthy 
and  natural  effort  for  a  purpose,  and  of  iendhig  your 
strength  —  be  it  great  or  small  —  to  the  united  struggle 
of  mankind.  This  is  success,  —  all  the  success  that  any- 
body meets  with !  " 

"  It  is  natural  enough,  Mr.  Ilolgrave,  that  you  should 
have  ideas  like  these,"  rejoined  Hepzibah,  drawing  up 
her  gaunt  figure,  with  slightly  offended  dignity.  "  You 
are  a  man,  a  young  man,  and  brought  up,  I  suppose,  as 
almost  everybody  is  nowadays,  with  a  view  to  seeking 
your  fortune.  But  I  was  born  a  lady,  and  have  always 
lived  one ;  no  matter  m  what  narrowness  of  means,  al- 
ways a  lady  !  " 

"  But  I  was  not  born  a  gentleman ;  neither  have  I 
lived  like  one,"  said  Holgrave,  sHghtly  smiling;  "so,  my 
dear  madam,  you  will  hardly  expect  me  to  sympathize 
with  sensibilities  of  this  kind ;  though,  unless  I  deceive 
myself,  I  have  some  imperfect  comprehension  of  them. 
These  names  of  gentleman  and  lady  had  a  meaning,  in 
the  past  history  of  the  world,  and  conferred  privileges, 
desirable  or  otherwise,  on  those  entitled  to  bear  them. , 


THE    FIRST    CUSTOMER.  57 

In  the  present  —  and  still  more  in  the  future  condition 
of  society  —  they  imply,  not  privilege,  but  restriction !  " 

"  These  are  new  notions,"  said  the  old  gentlewoman, 
shaking  her  head.  "I  shall  never  understand  them; 
neither  do  I  wish  it." 

"  We  will  cease  to  speak  of  them,  then,"  replied  tho 
artist,  with  a  friendUer  smile  than  his  last  one,  "  and  I 
will  leave  you  to  feel  whether  it  is  not  better  to  be  a 
true  woman  than  a  lady.  Do  you  really  think,  Misa 
Hepzibah,  that  any  lady  of  your  family  has  ever  done  a 
more  heroic  thing,  since  this  house  was  built,  than  you 
are  performing  in  it  to-day  ?  Never ;  and  if  the  Pyn- 
cheons  had  always  acted  so  nobly,  I  doubt  whether  an 
old  wizard  Maule's  anathema,  of  which  you  told  me  once, 
would  have  had  much  weight  with  Providence  against 
them." 

"  Ah  !  —  no,  no  !  "  said  Hepzibah,  not  displeased  at 
this  allusion  to  the  sombre  dignity  of  an  inherited  curse. 
"If  old  Maule's  ghost,  or  a  descendant  of  his,  could 
see  me  behind  the  counter  to-day,  he  would  call  it  the 
fulfilment  of  his  worst  wishes.  But  I  thank  you  for 
your  kindness,  Mr.  Holgrave,  and  wUl  do  my  utmost  to 
be  a  good  shop-keeper." 

"Pray  do,"  said  Holgrave,  "and  let  me  have  the 
pleasure  of  being  your  first  customer.  I  am  about  taking 
a  walk  to  the  sea-shore,  before  going  to  my  rooms,  where 
I  misuse  Heaven's  blessed  sunshine,  by  tracing  out 
human  features,  through  its  agency.  A  few  of  those 
biscuits,  dipt  in  sea-water,  will  be  just  what  I  need 
for  breakfast.     What  is  the  price  of  half  a  dozen  ?  " 

"Let  me  be  a  lady  a  moment  longer,"  replied  Hepzi- 
bah, with  a  manner  of  antique  statehness,  to  which  a 
melancholy  smile  lent  a  kind  of  grace.  She  put  the  bis- 
cuits into  his  hand,  but  rejected  the  compensation.     "  A 


58    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Pyncheon  must  not,  at  all  events,  under  her  forefathers' 
roof,  receive  money  for  a  morsel  of  bread;  fi-om  her  only 
friend ! " 

Holgrave  took  his  departure,  leaving  her,  for  the  mo- 
ment, \vith  spirits  not  quite  so  much  depressed.  Soon, 
however,  they  had  subsided  nearly  to  their  former  dead 
level.  With  a  beating  heart,  she  listened  to  the  foot- 
steps of  early  passengers,  which  now  began  to  be  fre- 
quent along  the  street.  Once  or  twice  they  seemed  to 
linger ;  these  strangers,  or  neighbors,  as  the  case  might 
be,  were  looking  at  the  display  of  toys  and  petty  commod- 
ities in  Hepzibah's  shop-window.  She  was  doubly  tor- 
tured ;  in  part,  with  a  sense  of  overwhelming  sliame,  that 
strange  and  unloving  eyes  should  have  the  privilege  of 
gazing,  and  partly  because  the  idea  occurred  to  her,  with 
ridiculous  importunity,  that  the  window  was  not  arranged 
so  skilfully,  nor  nearly  to  so  much  advantage,  as  it  might 
have  been.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  fortune  or  failure 
of  her  shop  might  depend  on  the  display  of  a  different 
set  of  articles,  or  substituting  a  fairer  apple  for  one 
which  appeared  to  be  specked.  So  she  made  the  change, 
and  straightway  fancied  that  everything  was  spoiled  by 
it;  not  recognizing  that  it  was  the  nervousness  of  the 
juncture,  and  her  own  native  squeamishness,  as  an  old 
maid,  that  wi'ought  all  the  seeming  mischief. 

Anon,  there  was  an  encounter,  just  at  the  door-step., 
betwixt  two  laboring  men,  as  their  rough  voices  denoted 
them  to  be.  After  some  slight  talk  about  their  own  af- 
fairs, one  of  them  chanced  to  notice  the  shop-window, 
and  directed  the  other's  attention  to  it. 

"  See  here  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  what  do  you  think  of  this  ? 
Trade  seems  to  be  lookhig  up,  in  Pyncheon  Street !  " 

"  Well,  well,  this  is  a  sight,  to  be  sure  !  "  exclaimed 
the  other.    "  In  the  old  Pvncheon  House,  and  underneath 


THE    FIRST   CUSTOxMER.  59 

the  Pyncheoa  Elm  !  Wlio  would  have  thought  it  ?  Old 
Maid  Pyucheou  is  setting  up  a  cent-shop  !  " 

"  Will  she  make  it  go,  think  you,  Dixey  ?  "  said  his 
friend.  "  I  don't  call  it  a  very  good  stand.  There  's 
another  shop,  just  round  the  comer." 

"  Make  it  go  !  "  cried  Dixey,  with  a  most  contemptu- 
ous expression,  as  if  the  very  idea  were  impossible  to  be 
conceived.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Why,  her  face  —  I  've 
seen  it,  for  I  dug  her  garden  for  her,  one  year  —  her  face 
is  enough  to  frighten  the  Old  Nick  himself,  if  he  had 
ever  so  great  a  mind  to  trade  with  her.  People  can't 
stand  it,  I  tell  you !  She  scowls  dreadfully,  reason  or 
none,  out  of  pure  uglmess  of  temper  ! " 

"Well,  that's  not  so  much  matter,"  remarked  the 
other  man  "  These  sour-tempered  folks  are  mostly 
handy  at  business,  and  know  pretty  well  what  they  are 
about.  But,  as  you  say,  I  don't  think  she  '11  do  much. 
This  business  of -keeping  cent-shops  is  overdone,  like  all 
other  kinds  of  trade,  handicraft,  and  bodily  labor.  I 
know  it,  to  my  cost !  My  wife  kept  a  cent-shop  three 
months,  and  lost  five  dollars  on  her  outlay !  " 

"  Poor  business  !  "  responded  Dixey,  in  a  tone  as  if  he 
were  shaking  his  head,  —  "  poor  business  !  " 

For  some  reason  or  other,  not  very  easy  to  analyze, 
there  had  hardly  been  so  bitter  a  pang,  in  all  her  previous 
misery  about  the  matter,  as  what  thrilled  Hepzibah's 
heart,  on  overhearing  the  above  conversation.  The  tes- 
timony in  regard  to  her  scowl  was  frightfully  important ; 
it  seemed  to  hold  up  her  image,  wholly  relieved  from  the 
false  light  of  her  self-partialities,  and  so  hideous  that  she 
dared  not  look  at  it.  Slie  was  absurdly  hurt,  moreover, 
by  the  slight  and  idle  effect  that  her  setting  up  shop  — 
an  event  of  such  breathless  interest  to  herself  —  appeared 
to  have  upon  the  public,  of  which  these  two  men  were 


60    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  nearest  representatives.  A  glance ;  a  passing  word 
or  two ;  a  coarse  laugh ;  and  she  was  doubtless  forgotten, 
before  they  turned  the  corner  !  They  cared  nothing  for 
her  dignity,  and  just  as  hitle  for  her  degradation.  Then, 
also,  the  augury  of  ill-success,  uttered  from  the  sure  wis- 
aom  of  experience,  fell  upon  her  half-dead  hope  like  a 
clod  into  a  grave.  The  man's  wife  had  already  tried  the 
same  experiment,  and  failed  !  How  could  the  born  lady, 
—  the  recluse  of  half  a  lifetime,  utterly  unpractised  in  the 
world,  at  sixty  years  of  age,  —  how  could  she  ever  dream 
of  succeeding,  when  the  hard,  vulgar,  keen,  busy,  hack- 
neyed New  England  woman  had  lost  live  dollars  on  her 
httle  outlay  !  Success  presented  itself  as  an  impossibility, 
and  the  hope  of  it  as  a  wild  hallucination. 

Some  malevolent  spirit,  doing  his  utmost  to  drive  Hep- 
zibah  mad,  unrolled  before  her  imagination  a  kind  of  pan- 
orama, representing  the  great  thoroughfare  of  a  city,  all 
astir  with  customers.  So  many  and  so  magnificent  shops 
as  there  were !  Groceries,  toy-shops,  dry-goods  stores, 
with  their  immense  panes  of  plate-glass,  their  gorgeous 
fixtures,  their  vast  and  complete  assortments  of  merchan- 
dise, in  which  fortunes  had  been  invested ;  and  those 
noble  mirrors  at  the  farther  end  of  each  establishment, 
doubling  all  this  wealth  by  a  brightly  burnished  vista  of 
unrealities !  On  one  side  of  the  street,  this  splendid 
bazaar,  with  a  multitude  of  perfumed  and  glossy  sales- 
men, smirking,  smiling,  bowing,  and  measurmg  out  the 
goods.  On  the  other,  the  dusky  old  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  with  the  antiquated  shop-window  under  its  pro- 
jecting story,  and  Hepzibah  herself,  in  a  gown  of  rusty 
black  silk,  behind  the  counter,  scowhng  at  the  world  as 
it  went  by  !  This  mighty  contrast  thrust  itself  forward, 
as  a  fair  expression  of  the  odds  against  which  she  was  to 
begin  her  struggle  for  a  subsistence.      Success  ?     Pre- 


THE    FIRST    CUSTOMER.  '     61 

posterous!  She  would  never  think  of.it  again!  The 
house  might  just  as  well  be  buried  in  an  eternal  fog, 
while  all  other  houses  had  the  sunshine  on  them ;  for  not 
a  foot  would  ever  cross  the  threshold,  nor  a  hand  so  much 
as  try  the  door ! 

But,  at  this  instant,  the  shop-bell,  right  over  her  head, 
tinkled  as  if  it  were  bewitched.  The  old  gentlewoman's 
heart  seemed  to  be  attached  to  the  same  steel  sprmg,  for 
it  went  through  a  series  of  sharp  jerks,  in  unison  with 
the  sound.  The  door  was  thrust  open,  although  no  hu- 
man form  was  perceptible  on  the  other  side  of  the  half- 
window.  Hepzibah,  nevertheless,  stood  at  a  gaze,  with 
her  hands  clasped,  looking  very  much  as  if  she  had  sum- 
moned up  an  evil  spirit,  and  were  afraid,  yet  resolved,  to 
hazard  the  encounter. 

"  Heaven  help  me  !  "  she  groaned,  mentally.  "  Now 
is  my  hour  of  need  !  " 

The  door,  which  moved  with  difficulty  on  its  creaking 
and  rusty  hinges,  being  forced  quite  open,  a  square  and 
sturdy  little  urchin  became  apparent,  with  cheeks  as  red 
as  an  apple.  He  was  clad  rather  shabbily  (but,  as  it 
seemed,  more  owing  to  his  mother's  carelessness  than 
his  father's  poverty),  in  a  blue  apron,  very  wide  and 
short  trousers,  shoes  somewhi^t  out  at  the  toes,  and  a 
chip-hat,  with  the  frizzles  of  his  curly  hair  sticking 
through  its  crevices.  A  book  and  a  small  slate,  under 
his  arm,  indicated  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  school.  He 
stared  at  Hepzibah  a  moment,  as  an  elder  customer  than 
himself  would  have  been  likely  enough  to  do,  not  know- 
ing what  to  make  of  the  tragic  attitude  and  queer  scowl 
wherewith  she  regarded  him. 

"  Well,  child,"  said  she,  taking  heart  at  sight  of  a  per- 
sonage so  little  formidable,  —  "  well,  my  child,  what  did 
you  wish  for  ?  " 


62    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  That  Jim  Crow,  there,  in  the  window,"  answered  the 
urchin,  holding  out  a  cent,  and  pointmg  to  the  ginger- 
bread figure  that  had  attracted  his  notice,  as  he  loitered 
along  to  school ;  "  the  one  that  has  not  a  broken  foot." 

So  Hepzibah  put  forth  her  lank  arm,  and  taking  the 
effigy  from  the  shop-window,  delivered  it  to  her  first  cus- 
tomer. 

"No  matter  for  the  money,"  said  she,  giving  him  a 
little  push  towards  the  door ;  for  her  old  gentility  was 
contumaciously  squeamish  at  sight  of  the  copper  coin, 
and,  besides,  it  seemed  such  pitiful  meanness  to  take  the 
child's  pocket-money  in  exchange  for  a  bit  of  stale  ginger- 
bread. "  No  matter  for  the  cent.  You  are  welcome  to 
Jim  Crow." 

The  child,  staring,  with  round  eyes,  at  this  instance  of 
liberality,  wholly  unprecedented  in  his  large  experience 
of  cent-shops,  took  the  man  of  gingerbread,  and  quitted 
the  premises.  No  sooner  had  he  reached  the  sidewalk 
(little  cannibal  that  he  was  !)  than  Jim  -Crow's  head  was 
in  his  mouth.  As  he  had  not  been  careful  to  shut  the 
door,  Hepzibah  was  at  the  pains  of  closing  it  after  him, 
with  a  pettish  ejaculation  or  two  about  the  troublesome- 
ness  of  young  people,  and  particularly  of  small  boys. 
She  had  just  placed  another  representative  of  the  re- 
nowned Jim  Crow  at  the  window,  when  again  the  shop- 
bell  tinkled  clamorously,  and  again  the  door  being  thrust 
open,  with  its  characteristic  jerk  and  jar,  disclosed  the 
same  sturdy  little  urchin  who,  precisely  two  minutes  ago, 
had  made  his  exit.  The  crumbs  and  discoloration  of  the 
cannibal  feast,  as  yet  hardly  consummated,  were  exceed- 
ingly visible  about  his  mouth. 

"  What  is  it  now,  child  ?  "  asked  the  maiden  lady, 
rather  impatiently;  "did  you  come  back  to  shut  the 
door  ?  " 


THE    FIEST   CUSTOMER.  63 

"  No,"  answered  the  urchiu,  pointing  to  the  figure  that 
had  just  been  put  up ;  "I  want  that  other  Jim  Crow." 

"  Well,  here  it  is  for  you,"  said  Hepzibah,  reaching  it 
down;  but,  recognizing  that  this  pertinacious  customer 
woidd  not  quit  her  on  any  other  terms,  so  long  as  she  had 
a  gingerbread  figure  in  her  shop,  she  partly  drew  back 
her  extended  hand,  —  "  Where  is  the  cent  ?  " 

The  Httle  boy  had  the  cent  ready,  but,  Hke  a  true-born 
Yankee,  would  have  preferred  the  better  bargain  to  the 
worse.  Looking  somewhat  chagrined,  he  put  the  coin 
into  Hepzibah's  hand,  and  departed,  sending  the  second 
Jim  Crow  in  quest  of  the  former  one.  The  new  shop- 
keeper dropped  the  first  solid  result  of  her  commercial 
enterprise  into  the  till.  It  was  done  !  The  sordid  stain 
of  that  copper  coin  could  never  be  washed  away  from  her 
palm.  The  little  school-boy,  aided  by  the  impish  figure 
of  the  negro  dancer,  had  wrought  an  irreparable  min. 
The  structure  of  ancient  aristocracy  had  been  demohshed 
by  him,  even  as  if  his  childish  gripe  had  torn  down  the 
seven-gabled  mansion.  Now  let  Hepzibah  turn  the  old 
Pyncheon  portraits  with  their  faces  to  the  wall,  and  take 
the  map  of  her  Eastern  territory  to  kindle  the  kitchen  fire, 
and  blow  up  the  flame  with  the  empty  breath  of  her  an- 
cestral traditions  !  What  had  she  to  do  with  ancestry  ? 
Nothing ;  no  more  than  with  posterity !  No  lady,  now, 
but  simply  Hepzibah  Pyncheon,  a  forlorn  old  maid,  and 
keeper  of  a  cent-shop  ! 

Nevertheless,  even  while  she  paraded  these  ideas  some- 
what ostentatiously  through  her  mind,  it  is  altogether 
surprising  what  a  calmness  had  come  over  her.  The  anx- 
iety and  misgivings  which  had  tormented  her,  whether 
asleep  or  in  melancholy  day-dreams,  ever  since  her  proj- 
ect began  to  take  an  aspect  of  solidity,  had  now  van- 
ished quite  away.     She  felt  the  novelty  of  her  position. 


64    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

indeed,  but  no  longer  with  disturbance  or  affright.  Now 
and  then,  there  came  a  thrill  of  almost  youthful  enjoy- 
ment. It  was  the  invigorating  breath  of  a  fresh  outward 
atmosphere,  after  the  long  torpor  and  monotonous  seclu- 
sion of  her  life.  So  wholesome  is  effort !  So  miraculous 
the  strength  that  we  do  not  know  of !  The  healthiest 
glow  that  Hepzibah  had  known  for  years  had  come  now, 
in  the  dreaded  crisis,  when,  for  the  first  time,  she  had 
put  forth  her  hand  to  help  herself.  The  little  circlet  of 
the  school-boy's  copper  coin  —  dim  and  lustreless  though 
it  was,  with  the  small  services  which  it  had  been  doing, 
here  and  there  about  the  world  —  had  proved  a  talisman, 
fragrant  with  good,  and  deserving  to  be  set  in  gold  and 
worn  next  her  heart.  It  was  as  potent,  and  perhaps  en- 
dowed with  the  same  kind  of  efficacy,  as  a  galvanic  ring ! 
Hepzibah,  at  all  events,  was  indebted  to  its  subtile 
operation,  both  in  body  and  spirit ;  so  much  the  more, 
as  it  inspired  her  with  energy  to  get  some  breakfast,  at 
which,  still  the  better  to  keep  up  her  courage,  she  allowed 
herself  an  extra  spoonful  in  her  infusion  of  black  tea. 

Her  introductory  day  of  shop-keeping  did  not  run  on, 
however,  without  many  and  serious  interruptions  of  this 
mood  of  cheerful  vigor.  As  a  general  rule.  Providence 
seldom  vouchsafes  to  mortals  any  more  than  just  that 
degree  of  encouragement  which  suffices  to  keep  them  at 
a  reasonably  full  exertion  of  their  powers.  In  the  case 
of  our  old  gentlewoman,  after  the  excitement  of  new 
effort  had  subsided,  the  despondency  of  her  whole  life 
threatened,  ever  and  anou,  to  return.  It  was  like  the 
heavy  mass  of  clouds  which  we  may  often  see  obscuring 
the  sky,  and  making  a  gray  twilight  everywhere,  until, 
towards  nightfall,  it  yields  temporarily  to  a  glimpse  of 
simshine.  But,  always,  the  envious  cloud  strives  to 
gather  again  across  the  streak  of  celestial  azure. 


THE   FIRST   CUSTOMEE.  65 

Customers  came  in,  as  the  forenoon  advanced,  but 
rather  slowly ;  in^  some  cases,  too,  it  must  be  owned, 
with  little  satisfaction  either  to  themselves  or  Miss  Hep- 
zibah  ;  nor,  on  the  whole,  with  an  aggregate  of  very  rich 
emolument  to  the  till.  A  little  girl,  sent  by  her  mother 
to  match  a  skein  of  cotton  thread,  of  a  peculiar  hue,  took 
one  that  the  near-sighted  old  lady  pronounced  extremely 
like,  but  soon  came  running  back,  with  a  blunt  and 
cross  message,  that  it  would  not  do,  and,  besides,  was 
very  rotten!  Then,  there  was  a  pale,  care-wi'inkled 
woman,  not  old  but  haggard,  and  already  with  streaks 
of  gray  among  her  hair,  like  silver  ribbons;  one  of 
those  women,  naturally  delicate,  whom  you  at  once 
recognize  as  worn  to  death  by  a  brute  —  probably  a 
drunken  brute  —  of  a  husband,  and  at  least  nine  chil- 
dren. She  wanted  a  few  pounds  of  flour,  and  offered 
the  money,  which  the  decayed  gentlewoman  silently  re- 
jected, and  gave  the  poor  soul  better  measure  than  if  she 
had  taken  it.  Shortly  afterwards,  a  man  in  a  blue  cot- 
ton frock,  much  soiled,  came  in  and  bought  a  pipe,  fiUing 
the  whole  shop,  meanwhile,  with  the  hot  odor  of  strong 
drink,  not  only  exhaled  in  the  torrid  atmosphere  of  his 
breath,  but  oozing  out  of  his  entire  system,  like  an  in- 
flammable gas.  It  was  impressed  on  Hepzibah's  mind 
that  this  was  the  husband  of  the  care-wrinkled  woman. 
He  asked  for  a  paper  of  tobacco ;  and  as  she  had  neg- 
lected to  provide  herself  with  the  article,  her  brutal 
customer  dashed  down  his  newly  bought  pipe,  and  left 
the  shop,  muttering  some  unintelligible  words,  which 
had  the  tone  and  bitterness  of  a  curse.  Hereupon,  Hep- 
zibah  threw  up  her  eyes,  unintentionally  scowKng  in  the 
face  of  Providence ! 

No  less  than  five  persons,  during  the  forenoon,  in- 
quired for  ginger-beer,  or  root-beer,  or  any  drink  of  a 


66         THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

similar  brewage,  and,  obtaining  nothing  of  the  kind, 
went  oif  in  an  exceedingly  bad  humor.  Three  of  them 
left  the  door  open,  and  the  other  two  pulled  it  so  spite- 
fully in  going  out  that  the  little  bell  played  the  very 
deuce  with  Hepzibah's  nerves.  A  round,  bustling,  fire- 
ruddy  housewife  of  the  neighborhood  burst  breathless 
into  the  shop,  fiercely  demanding  yeast ;  and  when  the 
poor  gentlewoman,  M^ith  her  cold  shyness  of  manner, 
gave  her  hot  customer  to  understand  that  she  did  not 
keep  the  article,  this  very  capable  housewife  took  upon 
herself  to  administer  a  regular  rebuke. 

"  A  cent-shop,  and  no  yeast !  "  quoth  she  ;  "  that  will 
never  do  !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  Your  loaf 
will  never  rise,  no  more  than  mine  will  to-day.  You  had 
better  shut  up  shop  at  once." 

"Well,"  said  Hepzibah,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  "per- 
haps I  had  !  " 

Several  times,  moreover,  besides  the  above  instance, 
her  lady-like  sensibilities  were  seriously  infringed  upon 
by  the  familiar,  if  not  rude  tone  with  which  people  ad- 
dressed her.  They  evidently  considered  themselves  not 
merely  her  equals,  but  her  patrons  and  superiors.  Now, 
Hepzibah  had  unconsciously  flattered  herself  with  the 
idea  that  there  would  be  a  gleam  or  halo,  of  some  kind 
or  other,  about  her  person,  which  would  insure  an  obei- 
sance to  her  sterHng  gentility,  or,  at  least,  a  tacit  recog- 
nition of  it.  On  the  other  hand,  nothing  tortured  her 
more  intolerably  than  when  this  recognition  was  too 
prominently  expressed.  To  one  or  two  rather  officious 
offers  of  sympathy,  her  responses  were  little  short  of  acri- 
monious ;  and,  we  regret  to  say,  Hepzibah  was  thrown 
into  a  positively  unchristian  state  of  mind,  by  the  sus- 
picion that  one  of  her  customers  was  dra\\Ti  to  the  shop, 
not  by  any  real  need  of  the  article  which  she  pretended 


THE    FIRST    CUSTOMER.  67 

to  seek,  but  by  a  wicked  wish  to  stare  at  her.  The  vul- 
gar creature  was  determined  to  see  for  herself  what  sort 
of  a  figure  a  mildewed  piece  of  aristocracy,  after  wasting 
all  the  bloom,  and  much  of  the  decline  of  her  life  apart 
from  the  world,  would  cut  behind  a -counter.  In  this 
particular  case,  however  mechanical  aifd  innocuous  it 
might  be  at  other  times,  Hepzibah's  contortion  of  brow 
served  her  in  good  stead. 

"  I  never  was  so  frightened  in  my  Hfe  !  "  said  the 
curious  customer,  in  describing  the  incident  to  one  of 
her  acquaintances.  "  She 's  a  real  old  vixen,  take  my 
word  of  it !  She  says  little,  to  be  sure  ;  but  if  you  could 
only  see  the  mischief  in  her  eye  !  " 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  her  new  experience  led  our 
decayed  gentlewoman  to  very  disagreeable  conclusions  as 
to  the  temper  and  manners  of  what  she  termed  the  lower 
classes,  whom  heretofore  she  had  looked  down  upon  with 
a  gentle  and  pitying  complaisance,  as  herself  occupying 
a  sphere  of  unquestionable  superiority.  But,  unfortu- 
nately, she  had  likewise  to  struggle  against  a  bitter  emo- 
tion of  a  directly  opposite  kind  :  a  sentiment  of  virulence, 
we  mean,  towards  the  idle  aristocracy  to  which  it  had 
so  recently  been  her  pride  to  belong.  When  a  lady,  in 
a  delicate  and  costly  summer  garb,  with  a  floating  veil 
and  gracefully  swaying  gown,  and,  altogether,  an  ethereal 
lightness  that  made  you  look  at  her  beautifully  slippered 
feet,  to  see  whether  she  trod  on  the  dust  or  floated  in 
the  air,  — when  such  a  vision  happened  to  pass  through 
this  retired  street,  leaving  it  tenderly  and  delusively  fra- 
grant with  her  passage,  as  if  a  bouquet  of  tea-roses  had 
been  borne  along,  — then,  again,  it  is  to  be  feared,  old 
Hepzibah's  scowl  could  no  longer  vindicate  itself  entirely 
on  the  plea  of  near-sightedness. 

"  For  what  end,"  thought  she,  giving  vent  to  that  feel- 


68    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

:jLg  of  hostility  which  is  the  only  real  abasement  of  the 
poor,  in  presence  of  the  rich,  —  "  for  what  good  end,  in 
the  wisdom  of  Providence,  does  that  woman  live  ?  Must 
the  whole  world  toil,  that  the  palms  of  her  hands  may  be 
kept  white  and  delicate  ?  " 

Then,  ashamed  and  penitent;  she  hid  her  face. 

"  May  God  forgive  me  !  "  said  she. 

Doubtless,  God  did  forgive  her.  But,  taking  the  in- 
ward and  outward  history  of  the  first  half-day  into  con- 
sideration, Hepzibah  began  to  fear  that  the  shop  would 
prove  her  ruin  in  a  moral  and  religious  point  of  view, 
without  contributing  very  essentially  towards  even  her 
temporal  welfare. 


IV. 


A  DAY  BEHIND   THE   COUNTER. 


|pjMpl||0 WARDS  noou,  Hepzibab  saw  an  elderly  gen- 
^1^  tleiiian,  large  aud  portly,  and  of  remarkably  dig- 
^^ft^lj  nifled  demeanor,  passing  slowly  along,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  white  and  dusty  street.  On  coming 
within  the  shadow  of  the  Pyncheon  Elm,  he  stopt,  and 
(taking  off  his  hat,  meanwhile,  to  wipe  the  perspiration 
from  his  brow)  seemed  to  scrutinize,  with  especial  in- 
terest,  the  dilapidated  and  rusty-visaged  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables.  He  himself,  in  a  very  different  style,  was 
as  well  worth  looking  at  as  the  house.  No  better  model 
need  be  sought,  nor  could  have  been  found,  of  a  very 
high  order  of  respectability,  which,  by  some  indescribable 
magic,  not  merely  expressed  itself  iu  his  looks  and  ges- 
tures, but  even  governed  the  fashion  of  his  garments, 
and  rendered  them  all  proper  and  essential  to  the  man. 
Without  appearing  to  differ,  in  any  tangible  way,  from 
other  people's  clothes,  there  was  yet  a  wide  and  rich 
gravity  about  them,  that  must  have  been  a  characteristic 
of  the  wearer,  since  it  could  not  be  defined  as  pertaining 
either  to  the  cut  or  material.  His  gold-headed  cane,  too, 
—  a  serviceable  staff,  of  dark  polished  wood,  —  had  sim- 
ilar traits,  and,  had  it  chosen  to  take  a  walk  bv  itself, 


70    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

■would  have  been  recognized  anywhere  as  a  tolerably 
adequate  representative  of  its  master.  This  character  — 
which  showed  itself  so  strikingly  in  everything  about  him, 
and  the  effect  of  wliich  wo  seek  to  convey  to  the  reader 
—  went  no  deeper  than  his  station,  habits  of  life,  and 
external  circumstances.  One  perceived  him  to  be  a  person- 
age of  marked  influence,  and  authority ;  and,  especially, 
you  could  feel  just  as  certain  that  he  was  opulent,  as  if  he 
had  exhibited  his  bank  account,  or  as  if  you  had  seen  him 
touching  the  twigs  of  the  Pyncheon  Elm,  and,  Midas-like, 
transmuting  them  to  gold. 

In  his  youth,  he  had  probably  been  considered  a  hand- 
some man ;  at  liis  present  age,  his  brow  was  too  heavy, 
his  temples  too  bare,  his  remaining  hair  too  gray,  his  eye 
too  cold,  his  lips  too  closely  compressed,  to  bear  any  re- 
lation to  mere  personal  beauty.  He  would  have  made  a 
good  and  massive  portrait ;  better  now,  perhaps,  than  at 
any  previous  period  of  his  life,  although  his  look  might 
grow  positively  harsh  in  the  process. of  being  fixed  upon 
the  canvas.  The  artist  would  have  found  it  desirable 
to  study  his  face,  and  prove  its  capacity  for  varieii  ex- 
pression ;  to  darken  it  with  a  frowu,  —  to  kindle  it  up 
with  a  smile. 

While  the  elderly  gentleman  stood  looking  at  the  Pyn- 
cheon House,  both  the  frown  and  the  smile  passed  suc- 
cessively over  his  countenance.  His  eye  rested  on  the 
shop-window,  and,  putting  up  a  pair  of  gold-bowed  spec- 
tacles, which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  mmutely  surveyed 
Hepzibah's  little  aiTangement  of  toys  and  commodities. 
At  first  it  seemed  not  to  please  him,  —  nay,  to  cause  him 
exceeding  displeasure,  —  and  yet,  the  very  next  moment, 
he  smiled.  While  the  latter  expression  was  yet  on  his 
lips,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Hepzibah,  who  had  involun- 
tarily bent  forward  to  the  window ;  and  then  the  smile 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER.       71 

changed  from  acrid  and  disagreeable  to  the  sunniest  com- 
placency and  benevolence.  He  bowed,  with  a  happy  mix- 
ture of  dignity  and  courteous  kindliness,  and  pursued  his 
way. 

"  There  he  is !  "  said  Hepzibah  to  herself,  gulping 
down  a  very  bitter  emotion,  and,  since  she  could  not  rid 
herself  of  it,  trying  to  drive  it  back  into  her  heart. 
"  What  does  he  think  of  it,  I  wonder  ?  Does  it  please 
him  ?    Ah !  —  he  is  looking  back  ! " 

The  gentleman  had  paused  in  the  street,  and  turned 
himself  half  about,  still  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  shop- 
window.  In  fact,  he  wheeled  wholly  round,  and  com- 
menced a  step  or  two,  as  if  designing  to  enter  the  shop ; 
but,  as  it  chanced,  his  purpose  was  anticipated  by  Hep- 
zibah's  first  customer,  the  little  cannibal  of  Jim  Crow, 
who,  staring  up  at  the  window,  was  irresistibly  attracted 
by  an  elephant  of  gingerbread.  What  a  grand  appetite 
had  this  small  urchin !  —  two  Jim  Crows  immediately 
after  breakfast !  —  and  now  an  elephant,  as  a  preliminary 
whet  before  dinner !  By  the  time  this  latter  purchase 
was  completed,  the  elderly  gentleman  had  resumed  his 
way,  and  turned  the  street  corner. 

"  Take  it  as  you  like,  Cousin  Jaffrey !  "  muttered  the 
maiden  lady,  as  she  drew  back,  after  cautiously  thrusting 
out  her  head,  and  looking  up  and  down  the  street,  —  "  take 
it  as  you  Hke !  You  have  seen  my  little  shop -window  ! 
Well !  —  what  have  you  to  say  ?  —  is  not  the  Pyncheon 
House  my  own,  while  I  'm  alive  ?  " 

After  this  incident,  Hepzibah  retreated  to  the  back 
parlor,  where  she  at  first  caught  up  a  half-finished  stocking, 
and  began  knitting  at  it  with  nervous  and  irregular  jerks  ; 
but  quickly  finding  herself  at  odds  with  the  stitclies,  she 
threw  it  aside,  and  walked  hurriedly  about  the  room. 
At  length,  she  paused  before  the  portrait  of  the  stern  old 


72    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Puritan,  her  ancestor,  and  the  founder  of  the  house.  In 
one  sense,  this  picture  had  ahnost  faded  into  the  canvas, 
and  hidden  itself  behind  the  duskiness  of  age ;  in  another, 
she  could  not  but  fancy  that  it  had  been  growing  more 
prominent,  and  strikingly  expressive,  ever  since  her  earh- 
est  famiUarity  with  it,  as  a  child.  For,  while  the  physical 
outline  and  substance  were  darkening  away  from  the  be- 
holder's eye,  the  bold,  hard,  and,  at  the  same  time,  indi- 
rect character  of  the  man  seemed  to  be  brought  out  in 
a  kind  of  spiritual  relief.  Such  an  effect  may  occasion- 
ally be  observed  in  pictures  of  antique  date.  They 
acquire  a  look  wliich  an  artist  (if  he  have  anything  like 
the  complacency  of  artists  nowadays)  would  never 
dream  of  presenting  to  a  patron  as  his  own  characteristic 
expression,  but  which,  nevertheless,  we  at  once  recognize 
as  reflecting  the  unlovely  truth  of  a  human  soul.  In 
such  cases,  the  painter's  deep  conception  of  his  subject's 
inward  traits  has  wrought  itself  into  the  essence  of  the 
picture,  and  is  seen  after  the  superficial  coloring  has  been 
rubbed  off  by  time. 

While  gazmg  at  the  portrait,  Hepzibah  trembled  under 
its  eye.  Her  hereditary  reverence  made  her  afraid  to 
judge  the  character  of  the  original  so  harshly  as  a  per- 
ception of  the  truth  compelled  her  to  do.  But  still  she 
gazed,  because  the  face  of  the  picture  enabled  her  —  at 
least,  she  fancied  so  —  to  read  more  accurately,  and  to  a 
greater  depth,  the  face  which  she  had  just  seen  in  the 
street. 

"  This  is  the  very  man !  "  murmured  she  to  herself. 
"Let  Jaffrey  Pyiicheon  smile  as  he  will,  there  is  that 
look  beneath!  Put  on  him  a  skull-cap,  and  a  band,  and 
a  black  cloak,  and  a  Bible  in  one  hand  and  a  sword  in 
the  other,  —  then  let  Jaffrey  smile  as  he  might,  —  no- 
body would  doubt  that  it  was  the  old  Pyncheon  come 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER.      73 

'again!  He  has  proved  himself  the  very  man  to  build 
up  a  new  house !  Perhaps,  too,  to  draw  down  a  new 
curse ! " 

Thus  did  Hepzibah  bewilder  herself  with  these  fanta- 
sies of  the  old  time.  She  had  dwelt  too  much  alone,  — 
too  long  in  the  Pvncheon  House,  — until  her  very  brain 
was  impregnated  with  the  dry-rot  of  its  timbers.  She 
needed  a  walk  along  the  noonday  street,  to  keep  her 
sane. 

By  the  spell  of  contrast,  another  portrait  rose  up  be- 
fore her,  painted  with  more  daring  flattery  than  any  artist 
would  have  ventured  upon,  but  yet  so  delicately  touched 
that  the  likeness  remained  perfect.  Malbone's  minia- 
ture, though  from  the  same  original,  was  far  inferior  to 
Hepzibah's  air-drawn  picture,  at  wliich  affection  and 
sorrowful  remembrance  wrought  together.  Soft,  mildly, 
and  cheerfully  contemplative,  with  full,  red  lips,  just  on 
the  verge  of  a  smile,  which  the  eyes  seemed  to  herald 
by  a  gentle  kindliug-up  of  their  orbs  !  Eerainine  traits, 
moulded  inseparably  with  those  of  the  other  sex !  The 
miniature,  likewise,  had  this  last  peculiarity;  so  that 
you  inevitably  thought  of  the  original  as  resembling  his 
mother,  and  she,  a  lovely  and  lovable  woman,  with  per- 
haps  some  beautiful  infirmity  of  character,  that  made  it 
all  the  pleasanter  to  know,  and  easier  to  love  her. 

"  Yes,"  thought  Hepzibah,  with  grief  of  which  it  was 
only  the  more  tolerable  portion  that  welled  up  from  her 
heart  to  her  eyelids,  "they  persecuted  his  mother  in 
him  !     He  never  was  a  Pyncheon !  " 

But  here  the  shop -bell  rang ;  it  was  like  a  sound  from 
-i  remote  distance,  —  so  far  had  Hepzibah  descended  into 
the  sepulchral  depths  of  her  reminiscences.  On  entering 
the  shop,  she  found  an  old  man  there,  a  humble  resident 
of  Pyncheon  Street,  and  whom,  for  a  great  many  years 


74    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

past,  she  had  suffered  to  be  a  kind  of  familiar  of  the 
house.  He  was  au  immemorial  personage,  who  seemed 
always  to  have  had  a  white  head  and  wrinkles,  and  never 
to  have  possessed  but  a  single  tooth,  and  that  a  half- 
decayed  one,  in  the  front  of  the  upper  jaw.  Well  ad- 
vanced as  Hepzibah  was,  she  could  not  remember  when 
Uncle  Venner,  as  the  neighborhood  called  him,  had  not 
gone  up  and  down  the  street,  stooping  a  httle  and  draw- 
ing his  feet  heavily  over  the  gravel  or  pavement.  But 
still  there  was  somethmg  tough  and  vigorous  about  him, 
that  not  only  kept  him  in  daily  breath,  but  enabled  him 
to  fill  a  place  which  would  else  have  been  vacant  in  the 
apparently  crowded  world.  To  go  of  errands  with  his 
slow  and  shufiiiug  gait,  which  made  you  doubt  how  he 
ever  was  to  arrive  anywhere  ;  to  saw  a  small  household's 
foot  or  two  of  firewood,  or  knock  to  pieces  an  old 
barrel,  or  split  up  a  pine  board,  for  kindling-stuff;  in 
summer,  to  dig  the  few  yards  of  garden  ground  appertain- 
ing to  a  low-rented  tenement,  and  share  the  produce  of 
his  labor  at  the  halves  ;  in  winter,  to  shovel  away  the  snow 
from  the  sidewalk,  or  open  paths  to  the  woodshed,  or 
along  the  clothes-line  ;  such  were  some  of  the  essential 
offices  which  Uncle  Venner  performed  among  at  least  a 
score  of  families.  Within  that  circle,  he  claimed  the 
same  sort  of  privilege,  and  probably  felt  as  much  warmth 
of  interest,  as  a  clergyman  does  in  the  range  of  his 
parishioners.  Not  that  he  laid  claim  to  the  tithe  pig; 
but,  as  an  analogous  mode  of  reverence,  he  went  his 
rounds,  every  morning,  to  gather  up  the  crumbs  of  the 
table  and  overflowings  of  the  dinner-pot,  as  food  for  a 
pig  of  his  own. 

In  his  younger  days  —  for,  after  all,  there  was  a  dim 
tradition  that  he  had  been,  not  young,  but  younger  — 
Uncle  Venner  was  commonly  regarded  as  rather  deficient. 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER.       75 

than  otherwise,  in  his  wits.  In  truth,  he  had  virtually 
pleaded  guilty  to  the  charge,  by  scarcely  aiming  at  such 
success  as  other  men  seek,  and  by  taking  only  that  hum- 
ble and  modest  part,  in  the  intercourse  of  life,  which 
belongs  to  the  alleged  deficiency.  But  now,  in  his  ex- 
treme old  age,  —  whether  it  were  that  his  long  and  hard 
experience  had  actually  brightened  him,  or  that  his 
decaying  judgment  rendered  him  less  capable  of  fairly 
measuring  himself,  — the  venerable  man  made  pretensions 
to  no  little  wisdom,  and  really  enjoyed  the  credit  of  it. 
There  was  likewise,  at  times,  a  vein  of  something  Hke 
poetry  in  him  ;  it  was  the  moss  or  wall-flower  of  his 
mind  in  its  small  dilapidation,  and  gave  a  charm  to  what 
might  have  been  vulgar  and  commonplace  in  his  earlier 
and  middle  life.  Hepzibah  had  a  regard  for  liim,  because 
his  name  was  ancient  in  the  town,  and  had  formerly  been 
respectable.  It  was  a  still  better  reason  for  awarding 
him  a  species  of  famihar  reverence,  that  Uncle  Venner 
was  himself  the  most  ancient  existence,  whether  of  man 
or  thing,  in  Pyncheon  Street,  except  the  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables,  and  perhaps  the  elm  that  overshadowed  it. 

This  patriarch  now  presented  himself  before  Hepzibah, 
clad  in  an  old  blue  coat,  which  had  a  fashionable  air,  and 
must  have  accrued  to  him  from  the  cast-off  wardrobe  of 
some  dashing  clerk.  As  for  his  trousers,  they  were 
of  tow-cloth,  very  short  in  the  legs,  and  bagging  down 
strangely  in  the  rear,  but  yet  having  a  suitableness  to  his 
figure  which  his  other  garment  entirely  lacked.  His  hat 
had  relation  to  no  other  part  of  his  dress,  and  but  very 
little  to  the  head  that  wore  it.  Thus  Uncle  Vemier  was 
a  miscellaneous  old  gentleman,  partly  himself,  but,  in 
good  measure,  somebody  else ;  patched  together,  too,  of 
different  epochs :  an  epitome  of  times  and  fashions. 

"  So,  you  have  really  bogun  trade,"  said  he,  —  "  really 


76    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

begun  trauo  ;  Well,  I  'm  glad  to  see  it.  Youiig  people 
should  never  live  idle  in  the  world,  nor  old  ones  neither, 
unless  when  the  rheumatize  gets  hold  of  them.  It  has 
given  me  warning  already  :  and  in  two  or  three  years 
longer,  I  shall  think  of  putting  aside  business,  and  re- 
tiring to  my  farm.  That 's  yonder,  —  the  great  brick 
house,  you  know,  —  the  workhouse,  most  folks  call  it ; 
but  I  mean  to  do  my  work  first,  and  go  there  to  be  idle 
and  enjoy  myself.  And  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  beginning 
to  do  your  work,  Miss  Hepzibah  !  " 

"  Thank  you.  Uncle  Venner,"  said  Hepzibah,  smiling ; 
for  she  always  felt  kindly  towards  the  simple  and  talka- 
tive old  man.  Had  he  been  an  old  woman,  she  might 
probably  have  repelled  the  freedom  which  she  now  took 
in  good  part.  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  begin  work,  indeed ! 
Or,  to  speak  the  truth,  I  have  just  begun,  when  I  ought 
to  be  giving  it  up." 

"  O,  never  say  that.  Miss  Hepzibah  !  "  answered  the  old 
man.  "You  are  a  young  woman  yet.  Why,  I  hardly 
thought  myself  younger  than  I  am  now,  it  seems  so  little 
while  ago  since  I  used  to  see  you  playing  about  the  door 
of  the  old  house,  quite  a  small  child !  Oftener,  though, 
you  used  to  be  sitting  at  the  threshold,  and  looking 
gravely  into  the  street ;  for  you  had  always  a  grave  kind 
of  way  with  you,  —  a  grown-up  air,  when  you  were  only 
the  height  of  my  knee.  It  seems  as  if  I  saw  you  now ; 
and  your  grandfather  with  bis  red  cloak,  and  his  white 
wig,  and  his  cocked  hat,  and  his  cane,  coming  out  of  the 
bouse,  and  stepping  so  grandly  up  the  street!  Those 
old  gentlemen  tliat  grew  up  before  the  Revolution  used 
to  put  on  grand  airs.  In  my  young  days,  the  great  man 
of  the  towTi  was  commonly  called  Kmg ;  and  his  wife, 
not  Queen  to  be  sure,  but  Lady.  Nowadays,  a  man 
would  not  dare  to  be  called  King ;  and  if  he  feels  himw«!*jlf 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER.       77 

a  little  above  common  folks,  he  only  stoops  so  much  the 
lower  to  them.  I  met  your  cousin,  the  Judge,  ten  minutes 
ago ;  and,  in  my  old  tow-cloth  trousers,  as  you  see,  the 
Judge  raised  his  hat  to  me,  I  do  beheve  !  At  any  rate, 
the  Judge  bowed  and  smiled  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hepzibah,  with  something  bitter  stealing 
unawares  into  her  tone ;  "  my  cousin  Jaffrey  is  thought 
to  have  a  very  pleasant  smile !  " 

"  And  so  he  has  !  "  replied  Uncle  Venner.  "  And 
that 's  rather  remarkable  in  a  Pyncheon ;  for,  begging 
your  pardon.  Miss  Hepzibah,  they  never  had  the  name  of 
being  an  easy  and  agreeable  set  of  folks.  There  was  no 
getting  close  to  them.  But  now.  Miss  Hepzibah,  if  an 
old  man  may  be  bold  to  ask,  why  don't  Judge  Pyncheon, 
with  his  great  means,  step  forward,  and  tell  his  cousin  to 
shut  up  her  little  shop  at  once  ?  It 's  for  your  credit 
to  be  doing  something,  but  it 's  not  for  the  Judge's 
credit  to  let  you !  " 

"  We  won't  talk  of  this,  if  you  please,  Uncle  Venner,'* 
said  Hepzibah,  coldly.  "  I  ought  to  say,  however,  that, 
if  I  choose  to  earn  bread  for  myself,  it  is  not  Judge 
Pyncheon's  fault.  Neither  will  he  deserve  the  blame," 
added  she,  more  kindly,  remembering  Uncle  Venner's 
privileges  of  age  and  humble  familiarity,  "  if  I  should,  by 
and  by,  find  it  convenient  to  retire  with  you  to  your  farm." 

"  And  it  's  no  bad  place,  either,  that  farm  of  mine  !  " 
cried  the  old  man,  3heerily,  as  if  there  were  something 
positively  dehghtful  in  the  prospect.  "  No  bad  place  is 
the  great  brick  farm-house,  especially  for  them  that  will 
find  a  good  many  old  cronies  there,  as  will  be  my  case. 
I  quite  long  to  be  among  tliem,  sometimes,  of  the  winter 
evenings  ;  for  it  is  but  dull  business  for  a  lonesome  elderly 
man,  like  me,  to  be  nodding,  by  the  hour  together,  with 
no  company  but  his  air-tight  stove.     Summer  or  winter. 


78    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

there 's  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  favor  of  my  farm  !  And, 
take  it  in  the  autumn,  what  can  be  pleasanter  than  to 
spend  a  whole  day  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  barn  or  a  wood- 
pile, chatting  with  somebody  as  old  as  one's  self;  or, 
pcrliaps,  idling  away  the  time  with  a  natural-born  simple- 
ton, who  knows  how  to  be  idle,  because  even  our  busy 
Yankees  never  have  found  out  how  to  put  him  to  any 
use  ?  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Hepzibah,  I  doubt  whether 
I  've  ever  been  so  comfortable  as  I  mean  to  be  at  my 
farm,  which  most  folks  call  the  workhouse.  But  you,  — 
you  're  a  young  woman  yet,  —  you  never  need  go  there  ! 
Something  still  better  will  turn  up  for  vou.  I  'm  sure 
of  it ! " 

Hepzibah  fancied  that  there  was  something  peculiar  in 
her  venerable  friend's  look  and  tone ;  insomuch,  that  she 
gazed  mto  his  face  with  considerable  earnestness,  endeav- 
oring to  discover  what  secret  meaning,  if  any,  might  be 
lurking  there.  Individuals  whose  affairs  have  reached  an 
utterly  desperate  crisis  almost  invariably  keep  themselves 
alive  with  hopes,  so  much  the  more  airily  magnificent,  as 
they  have  the  less  of  solid  matter  within  their  grasp, 
whereof  to  mould  any  judicious  and  moderate  expectation 
of  good.  Thus,  all  the  while  Hepzibah  was  perfecting 
the  scheme  of  her  little  shop,  she  had  cherished  an  unac- 
knowledged idea  that  some  harlequin  trick  of  fortune 
would  intervene  in  her  favor.  For  example,  an  uncle  — 
who  had  sailed  for  India,  fifty  years  before,  and  never 
been  heard  of  since  —  might  yet  return,  and  adopt  her  to 
be  the  comfort  of  his  very  extreme  and  decrepit  age,  and 
adorn  her  with  pearls,  diamonds,  and  Oriental  shawls  and 
turbans,  and  make  her  the  ultimate  heiress  of  his  un- 
reckonable  riches.  Or  the  member  of  Parliament,  now  at 
the  head  of  the  English  branch  of  the  family,  —  with 
which  the  elder  stock,  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  had 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER.       79 

held  little  or  no  intercourse  for  the  last  two  centuries,  — 
this  eminent  gentlem^  might  invite  Hepzibah  to  quit  the 
ruinous  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  and  come  over  to 
dwell  with  her  kmdred  at  Pvncheon  Hall.  But,  for  rea- 
sons the  most  imperative,  she  could  not  yield  to  his  re- 
quest. It  was  more  probable,  therefore,  that  the  descend- 
ants of  a  Pyncheon  who  had  emigrated  to  Virginia,  in 
some  past  generation,  and  became  a  great  planter  there, 
—  hearing  of  Hepzibah's  destitution,  and  impelled  by  the 
splendid  generosity  of  character  with  which  their  Vir- 
ginian mixture  must  have  enriched  the  New  England 
blood,  —  would  send  her  a  remittance  of  a  thousand  dol- 
lars, with  a  hint  of  repeating  the  favor,  annually.  Or  — 
and,  surely,  anything  so  undeniably  just  could  not  be 
beyond  the  limits  of  reasonable  anticipation  —  the  great 
claim  to  the  heritage  of  Waldo  County  might  finally  be 
decided  in  favor  of  the  Pyncheons ;  so  that,  instead  of 
keeping  a  cent-shop,  Hepzibah  would  build  a  palace,  and 
look  down  from  its  highest  tower  on  hill,  dale,  forest, 
field,  and  town,  as  her  ovm  share  of  the  ancestral  terri- 
tory. 

These  were  some  of  the  fantasies  which  she  had  long 
dreamed  about ;  and,  aided  by  these.  Uncle  Veuner's 
casual  attempt  at  encouragement  kindled  a  strange  festal 
glory  in  the  poor,  bare,  melancholy  chambers  of  her 
brain,  as  if  that  inner  world  were  suddenly  lighted  up 
with  gas.  But  either  he  knew  nothing  of  her  castles  in 
the  air  —  as  how  should  he  ?  — or  else  her  earnest  scowl 
disturbed  his  recollection,  as  it  might  a  more  courageous 
man's.  Instead  of  pursuing  any  weighter  topic.  Uncle 
Venner  was  pleased  to  favor  Hepzibah  with  some  sage 
counsel  in  her  shop-keeping  capacity. 

"  Give  no  credit !  "  —  these  were  some  of  his  golden 
maxims,  —  "  Never  take   paper-money  !     Look   well  to 


80    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

your  change  !  Ring  the  silver  on  the  four-pound  weight ! 
Shove  back  all  Enghsh  half-pence  and  base  copper  tokens, 
such  as  are  very  plenty  about  town !  At  your  leisure 
hours,  knit  children's  woollen  socks  and  mittens  !  Brew 
your  own  yeast,  and  make  your  own  ginger-beer  !  " 

And  while  Hepzibah  was  doing  her  utmost  to  digest 
the  hard  little  pellets  of  his  already  uttered  wisdom,  he 
gave  vent  to  his  final,  and  what  he  declared  to  be  his  all- 
important  advice,  as  follows  :  — 

"  Put  on  a  bright  face  for  your  customers,  and  smile 
pleasantly  as  you  hand  them  what  they  ask  for  !  A  stale 
article,  if  you  dip  it  in  a  good,  warm,  sunny  smile,  will 
go  off  better  than  a  fresii  one  that  you  've  scowled 
upon." 

To  this  last  apothegm  poor  Hepzibah  responded  vrith 
a  sigh  so  deep  and  heavy  that  it  almost  rustled  Uncle 
Vernier  quite  away,  like  a  withered  leaf,  —  as  he  was,  — 
before  an  autumnal  gale.  Recovering  himself,  however, 
he  bent  forward,  and,  with  a  good  deal  of  feehng  in  his 
ancient  visage,  beckoned  her  nearer  to  him. 

"When  do  you  expect  him  home  ?  "  whispered  he. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  liepzibah,  turning 
pale. 

"Ah?  you  don't  love  to  talk  about  it,"  said  Tncle 
Venner.  "  Well,  well !  we  '11  say  no  more,  though 
there  's  word  of  it,  all  over  town.  I  remember  him.  Miss 
Hepzibah,  before  he  could  run  alone  !  " 

During  the  remamder  of  the  day,  poor  Hepzibah  ac- 
quitted herself  even  less  creditably,  as  a  shop-keeper,  than 
in  her  earlier  efforts.  She  appeared  to  be  walking  in  a 
dream ;  or,  more  truly,  the  vivid  life  and  reality  assumed 
by  her  emotions  made  all  outward  occurrences  unsubstan- 
tial, like  the  teasing  phantasms  of  a  half-conscious  slum- 
ber.    She  still  responded,  mechanically,  to  the  frequent 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTER.       81 

summons  of  the  shop-bell,  and,  at  the  demand  of  her  cus- 
tomers, went  prying  with  vague  eyes  about  the  shop, 
proJSPering  them  one  article  after  another,  and  thrustmg 
aside  —  perversely,  as  most  of  them  supposed  —  the 
identical  thing  they  asked  for.  There  is  sad  confusion, 
indeed,  when  the  spirit  thus  flits  away  into  the  past,  or 
into  the  more  avv^ful  future,  or,  in  any  manner,  steps 
across  the  spaceless  boundary  betwixt  its  own  region  and 
the  actual  world ;  where  the  body  remains  to  guide  itself, 
as  best  it  may,  with  little  more  than  the  mechanism  of 
animal  life.  It  is  like  death,  without  death's  quiet 
privilege,  —  its  freedom  from  mortal  care.  Worst  of  all, 
when  the  actual  duties  are  comprised  in  such  petty  details 
as  now  vexed  the  brooding  soul  of  the  old  gentlewoman. 
As  the  animosity  of  fate  would  have  it,  there  was  a  great 
influx  of  custom,  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon.  Hepzi- 
bah  blundered  to  and  fro  about  her  small  place  of  busi- 
ness, committmg  the  most  unheard-of  errors  :  now  string- 
ing up  twelve,  and  now  seven  tallow-candles,  instead  of 
ten  to  the  pound ;  selling  ginger  for  Scotch  snuff,  pins 
for  needles,  and  needles  for  pins ;  misreckoning  her 
change,  sometimes  to  the  public  detriment,  and  much 
oftener  to  her  own ;  and  thus  she  went  on,  doing  her 
utmost  to  bring  chaos  back  again,  until,  at  the  close  of 
the  day's  labor,  to  her  inexplicable  astonishment,  she 
found  the  money-drawer  almost  destitute  of  coin.  After 
all  her  painful  traffic,  the  whole  proceeds  were  perhaps 
half  a  dozen  coppers,  and  a  questionable  ninepence,  which 
ultimately  proved  to  be  copper  likevase. 

At  this  price,  or  at  whatever  price,  she  rejoiced  that 
the  day  had  reached  its  end.  Never  before  had  she  had 
such  a  sense  of  the  intolerable  length  of  time  that  creeps 
between  dawn  and  sunset,  and  of  the  miserable  irksome- 
ness  of  havins:  aujrlit  to  do,  and  of  the  better  wisdom 


82    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

that  it  would  be,  to  lie  down  at  once,  in  sullen  resigna- 
tion, and  let  life,  and  its  toils  and  vexations,  trample  over 
one's  prostrate  body  as  they  may !  Hepzibali's  final 
operation  was  with  the  little  devourer  of  Jim  Crow  and 
the  elephant,  who  now  proposed  to  eat  a  camel.  In  her 
bewilderment,  she  offered  him  first  a  wooden  dragoon, 
and  next  a  handful  of  marbles ;  neither  of  which  being 
adapted  to  his  else  omnivorous  appetite,  she  hastily  held 
out  her  whole  remaining  stock  of  natural  history  in  gin- 
gerbread, and  huddled  the  small  customer  out  of  the 
shop.  She  then  mufiled  the  beU  in  an  unfinished  stock- 
ing, and  put  up  the  oaken  bar  across  the  door. 

During  the  latter  process,  an  omnibus  came  to  a  stand- 
still under  the  branches  of  the  elm-tree.  Hepzibah's 
heart  was  in  her  mouth.  Remote  and  dusky,  and  with 
no  sunshine-  on  all  the  intervening  space,  was  that  region 
of  the  Past  whence  her  only  guest  might  be  expected  to 
arrive  !     Was  she  to  meet  him  now  ? 

Somebody,  at  all  events,  was  passing  from  the  farthest 
interior  of  the  omnibus  towards  its  entrance.  A  gentle- 
man alighted ;  but  it  was  only  to  offer  his  hand  to  a 
young  girl  whose  slender  figure,  nowise  needing  such 
assistance,  now  hghtly  descended  the  steps,  and  made  an 
airy  little  jump  from  the  final  one  to  the  sidewalk.  She 
rewarded  her  cavalier  with  a  smile,  the  cheery  glow  of 
which  was  seen  reflected  on  his  own  face  as  he  re- 
entered the  vehicle.  The  girl  then  tui'ned  towards  the 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  to  the  door  of  which,  mean- 
while,—  not  the  shop-door,  but  the  antique  portal, — 
the  omnibus-man  had  carried  a  light  trunk  and  a  band- 
box. First  giving  a  sharp  rap  of  the  old  iron  knocker, 
he  left  his  passenger  and  her  luggage  at  the  doorstep, 
and  departed. 

**  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  thought  Hepzibah,  who  had  been 


A  DAY  BEHIND  THE  COUNTEE.      83 

screwing  her  visual  organs  into  the  acutest  focus  of  which 
they  were  capable,  "  The  girl  must  have  mistaken  tha 
house ! " 

She  stole  softly  into  the  hall,  and,  herself  invisible, 
gazed  through  the  dusty  side-lights  of  the  portal  at  the 
young,  blooming,  and  very  cheerful  face,  wliich  presented 
itself  for  admittance  into  the  gloomy  old  mansion.  It 
was  a  face  to  which  almost  any  door  would  have  opened 
of  its  own  accord. 

The  young  girl,  so  fresh,  so  unconventional,  and  yet 
so  orderly  and  obedient  to  common  rules,  as  you  at  once 
recognized  her  to  be,  was  widely  in  contrast,  at  that  mo- 
ment, with  everything  about  her.  The  sordid  and  ugly 
luxuriance  of  gigantic  weeds  that  grew  in  the  angle  of 
the  house,  and  the  heavy  projection  that  overshadowed 
her,  and  the  time-worn  framework  of  the  door,  —  none 
of  these  things  belonged  to  her  sphere.  But,  even  as  a 
ray  of  sunshine,  fall  into  what  dismal  place  it  may,  instan- 
taneously creates  for  itself  a  propriety  in  being  there,  so 
did  it  seem  altogether  fit  that  the  girl  should  be  stand- 
ing at  the  threshold.  It  was  no  less  evidently  proper 
that  the  door  should  swing  open  to  admit  her.  The 
maiden  lady,  herself,  sternly  inhospitable  in  her  first  pur- 
poses, soon  began  to  feel  that  the  door  ougbt  to  be  .shoved 
back,  and  the  rusty  key  be  turned  in  the  reluctant  lock. 

"Can  it  be  Phoebe?"  questioned  she  within  herself. 
"  It  must  be  little  Phoebe ;  for  it  can  be  nobody  else, — 
and  there  is  a  look  of  her  father  about  her,  too  !  But 
what  does  she  want  here  ?  And  how  like  a  country 
cousin,  to  come  down  upon  a  poor  body  in  this  way, 
without  so  much  as  a  day's  notice,  or  asking  whether 
she  would  he  welcome !  Well ;  she  must  have  a  night's 
lodging,  I  suppose;  and  ^o-morrow  the  child  shall  go 
back  to  her  mother  !  " 


84    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEK  GABLES. 

Phoebe,  it  must  be  understood,  was  that  one  little  off- 
shoot of  the  Pjncheon  race  to  whom  we  have  already 
referred,  as  a  native  of  a  rural  part  of  New  England, 
where  the  old  fashions  and  feelings  of  relationship  are 
still  partially  kept  up.  In  her  own  circle,  it  was  re- 
garded as  by  no  means  improper  for  kinsfolk  to  visit  one 
another,  without  invitation,  or  prehminary  and  ceremo- 
nious warmng.  Yet,  in  consideration  of  Miss  Hepzibah's 
recluse  way  of  life,  a  letter  had  actually  been  written  and 
despatched,  conveying  information  of  Phcebe's  projected 
visit.  This  epistle,  for  three  or  four  days  past,  had  been 
in  the  pocket  of  the  penny-postman,  who,  happening  to 
have  no  other  business  in  Pyucheon  Street,  had  not  yet 
made  it  convenient  to  call  at  the  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables. 

"  No  !  —  she  can  stay  only  one  night,"  said  Hepzibah, 
unbolting  the  door.  "  If  Clifford  were  to  iind  her  here, 
it  might  disturb  him  !  " 


V. 


MAY  AND  NOVEMBER. 


HOEBE  PYNCHEON  slept,  ou  the  night  of  her 
arrival,  in  a  chamber  that  looked  down  on  the 
garden  of  the  old  house.  It  fi'onted  towards 
the  east,  so  that  at  a  very  seasonable  hour  a  glow  of 
crimson  light  came  flooding  through  the  window,  and 
bathed  the  dingy  ceiling  and  paper-hangings  in  its  own 
hue.  There  were  curtains  to  Phoebe's  bed ;  a  dark,  an- 
tique canopy  and  ponderous  festoons,  of  a  stuff  which 
had  been  rich,  and  even  magnificent,  in  its  time ;  but 
which  now  brooded  over  the  girl  like  a  cloud,  making  a 
night  in  that  one  corner,  while  elsewhere  it  was  begin- 
ning to  be  day.  The  morning  light,  however,  soon  stole 
into  the  aperture  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  betwixt  those 
faded  curtains.  Finding  the  new  guest  there,  — with  & 
bloom  on  her  cheeks  like  the  morning's  own,  and  a  gentle 
stir  of  departing  slumber  in  her  limbs,  as  when  an  early 
breeze  moves  the  foliage,  —  the  dawn  kissed  her  brow. 
It  was  the  caress  which  a  dewy  maiden  —  such  as  the 
Dawn  is,  immortally  —  gives  to  her  sleeping  sister,  part- 
ly from  the  impulse  of  irresistible  fondness,  and  partly  as 
a  pretty  hint  that  it  is  time  now  to  unclose  her  eyes. 

At  the  touch  of  those  lips  of  light,  Phoebe  quietly 
awoke,  and,  for  a  moment,  did  not  recognize  where  she 


86    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

was,  nor  how  those  heavy  curtains  chanced  to  be  fes- 
tooned around  her.  Nothing,  indeed,  was  absolutely 
plain  to  her,  except  that  it  was  now  early  morning,  and 
that,  whatever  might  happen  next,  it  was  proper,  first  of 
aU,  to  get  up  and  say  her  prayers.  She  was  the  more 
inclined  to  devotion,  from  the  grim  aspect  of  the  cham- 
ber and  its  furniture,  especially  the  tall,  stiif  chairs  ;  one 
of  which  stood  close  by  her  bedside,  and  looked  as  if 
some  old-fashioned  personage  had  been  sitting  there  all 
night,  and  had  vanished  only  just  in  season  to  escape 
discovery. 

When  Phcebe  was  quite  dressed,  she  peeped  out  of  the 
window,  and  saw  a  rose-bush  in  the  garden.  Being  a 
very  tall  one,  and  of  luxuriant  growth,  it  had  been 
propped  up  agamst  the  side  of  the  house,  and  was  liter- 
ally covered  with  a  rare  and  very  beautiful  species  of 
white  rose.  A  large  portion  of  them,  as  the  girl  after- 
wards discovered,  had  blight  or  mildew  at  their  hearts ; 
but,  viewed  at  a  fair  distance,  the  whole  rose-bush  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  brought  from  Eden  that  very  summer, 
together  with  the  mould  in  which  it  grew.  The  truth 
was,  nevertheless,  that  it  had  been  planted  by  AHce  Pyn- 
cheon,  —  she  was  Phoebe's  great-great -grand-aunt,  —  in 
soil  which,  reckoning  only  its  cultivation  as  a  garden- 
plat,  was  now  unctuous  with  nearly  two  hundred  years  of 
vegetable  decay.  Growing  as  they  did,  however,  out  of 
the  old  earth,  the  flowers  still  sent  a  fresh  and  sweet 
incense  up  to  their  Creator ;  nor  could  it  have  been  the 
less  pure  and  acceptable,  because  Phoebe's  young  breath 
mingled  with  it,  as  the  fragrance  floated  past  the  window. 
Hastening  down  the  creaking  and  carpetless  staircase, 
she  found  her  way  into  the  garden,  gathered  some  of 
the  most  perfect  of  the  roses,  and  brought  them  to  her 
chamber. 


MAY    AND    NOVEMBER.  87 

Little  PhcBbe  was  one  of  those  persons  who  possess,  as 
their  exclusive  patrimony,  the  gift  of  practical  arrange- 
ment. It  is  a  kind  of  natural  magic  that  enables  these 
favored  ones  to  bring  out  the  hidden  capabilities  of  things 
around  them  ;  and  particularly  to  give  a  look  of  comfort 
and  habitableness  to  any  place  which,  for  however  brief 
a  period,  may  happen  to  be  their  home.  A  wild  hut  of 
underbrush,  tossed  together  by  wayfarers  through  the 
primitive  forest,  would  acquire  the  home  aspect  by  one 
night's  lodging  of  such  a  woman,  and  would  retain  it 
long  after  her  quiet  figure  had  disappeared  into  the  sur- 
rounding shade.  No  less  a.  portion  of  such  homely 
witchcraft  was  requisite,  to  reclaim,  as  it  were,  Phoebe's 
waste,  cheerless,  and  dusky  chamber,  which  had  been  un- 
tenanted so  long  —  except  by  spiders,  and  mice,  and  rats, 
and  ghosts  —  that  it  was  all  overgrown  with  the  deso- 
lation which  watches  to  obhterate  every  trace  of  man's 
happier  hours.  What  was  precisely  Phoebe's  process, 
we  find  it  impossible  to  say.  She  appeared  to  have  no 
preliminary  design,  but  gave  a  touch  here,  and  another 
there;  brought  some  articles  of  furniture  to  light,  and 
dragged  others  into  the  shadow ;  looped  up  or  let  down 
a  window-curtain;  and,  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour, 
had  fully  succeeded  in  throwing  a  kindly  and  hospitable 
smUe  over  the  apartment.  No  longer  ago  than  the  night 
before,  it  had  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  the  old 
maid's  heart ;  for  there  was  neither  sunshine  nor  house- 
hold fire  in  one  nor  the  other,  and,  save  for  ghosts  and 
ghostly  reminiscences,  not  a  guest,  for  many  years  gone 
by,  had  entered  the  heart  or  the  chamber. 

There  was  still  another  pecuHarity  of  this  inscrutable 
charm.  The  bedchamber,  no  doubt,  was  a  chamber  of 
very  great  and  varied  experience,  as  a  scene  of  human 
life:  the  joy  of  bridal  nights  had  throbbed  itself  away 


88    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

here;  new  ixmortals  had  first  drawn  earthly  breath 
here ;  and  here  old  people  had  died.  But  —  whether 
it  were  the  white  roses,  or  whatever  the  subtile  influence 
might  be  —  a  person  of  delicate  instinct  would  have 
known,  at  once,  that  it  was  now  a  maiden's  bedcham- 
ber, and  had  been  purified  of  all  former  evil  and  sorrow 
by  her  sweet  breath  and  hal^py  thoughts.  Her  dreams 
of  the  past  night,  being  such  cheerful  ones,  had  exor- 
cised the  gloom,  and  now  haunted  the  chamber  in  its 
stead. 

After  arranging  matters  to  her  satisfaction,  Phoebe 
emerged  from  her  chamber  with  a  purpose  to  descend 
again  into  the  garden.  Beanies  tile  rose-bush,  she  had 
observed  several  other  spiecies  of  flowers,  growing  there 
in  a  wilderness  of  neglect,  and  obstructing  ^iie  another's 
development  (as  is  often  the  parallel  case  in  human  so- 
ciety)  by  their  uneducated  entanglement  and  confusion. 
At  the  head  of  the  stairs,  however,  she  met  Hcpzibah, 
who,  it  being  still  early,  invited  her  into  a  room  which 
she  would  probably  have  called  her  boudoir,  had  her  edu- 
cation embraced  any  such  French  phrase.  It  was  strewn 
about  with  a  few  old  books,  and  a  work-basket,  and  a 
dusty  writmg-desk  ;  and  had,  on  one  side,  a  large,  black 
article  of  furniture,  of  very  strange  appearance,  which 
the  old  gentlewoman  told  Phcebe  was  a  harpsichord.  It 
looked  more  like  a  coffin  than  anything  else;  and,  m- 
deed,  —  not  having  been  played  upon,  or  opened,  for  years, 
—  there  must  have  been  a  vast  deal  of  dead  music  in  it, 
stifled  for  want  of  air.  Human  finger  was  hardly  known 
to  have  touched  its  chords  since  the  days  of  Alice  Pyn- 
cheon,  who  had  learned  the  sweet  accomplishment  of 
melody  m  Europe. 

Hcpzibah  bade  her  young  guest  sit  down,  and,  herself 
takmg  a  chair  near  by,  looked  as  earnestly  at  Phoebe's 


MAY    AND   NOVEMBER.  89 

trim  little  figure  as  if  she  expected  to  see  right  into  its 
springs  and  motive  secrets. 

"  Cousin  Phoebe,"  said  she,  at  last,  "  I  really  can't  see 
my  way  clear  to  keep  you  with  me." 

These  words,  however,  had  not  the  inhospitable  blunt- 
ness  with  which  they  may  strike  the  reader  ;  for  the  two 
relatives,  in  a  talk  before  bedtime,  had  arrived  at  a  certain 
degree  of  mutual  understandhig.  Hepzibah  knew  enough 
to  enable  her  to  appreciate  the  circumstances  (resulting 
from  the  second  marriage  of  the  girl's  mother)  wliicli  made 
it  desirable  for  Phcebe  to  establish  herself  in  another  home. 
Nor  did  she  misiiiterpret  Phoebe's  character,  and  the 
genial  activity  pervading  it,  —  one  of  the  most  valuable 
traits  of  the  true  New  England  woman,  —  which  had  im- 
pelled her  forth,  as  might  be  said,  to  seek  her  fortune, 
but  with  a  self-respecting  purpose  to  confer  as  much  bene- 
fit as  she  could  anywise  receive.  As  one  of  her  nearest 
kindred,  she  had  naturally  betaken  herself  to  Hepzibah, 
with  no  idea  of  forcing  herself  on  her  cousin's  protection, 
but  only  for  a  visit  of  a  week  or  two,  which  might  be 
indefinitely  extended,  should  it  prove  for  the  happinesp 
of  both. 

To  Hepzibah's  blunt  observation,  therefore,  Phoebe  re- 
plied, as  frankly,  and  more  cheerfully. 

"  Dear  cousin,  I  cannot  tell  how  it  will  be,"  said  she. 
"  But  I  really  think  we  may  suit  one  another  much  bet- 
ter than  you  suppose." 

"  You  are  a  nice  girl,  —  I  see  it  plainly,"  continued 
Hepzibah ;  "  and  it  is  not  any  question  as  to  that  point 
which  makes  me  hesitate.  But,  Phoebe,  this  house  of 
mine  is  but  a  melancholy  place  for  a  young  person  to  be 
in.  It  lets  in  the  wind  and  rain,  and  the  snow,  too,  in 
the  gnrret  and  upper  chambers,  in  winter-time ;  but  it- 
never  lets  in  the  sunshine.'     And  .as  fo^  myself,  you  sec 


90    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

what  1  am,  —  a  dismal  and  lonesome  old  woman  (for  ^ 
begin  to  call  myself  old,  Phoebe),  whose  temper,  I  am 
afraid,  is  none  of  the  best,  and  whose  spirits  are  as  bad 
as  can  be.  I  cannot  make  your  life  pleasant,  Cousm 
Phoebe,  neither  can  I  so  much  as  give  you  bread  to  eat." 

"  You  will  find  me  a  cheerful  little  body,"  answered 
Phoebe,  smiling,  and  yet  with  a  kind  of  gentle  dignity ; 
■•'  and  I  mean  to  earn  my  bread.  You  know  I  have  not 
been  brought  up  a  Pyncheon.  A  girl  learns  many  things 
in  a  New  England  viHage." 

"  Ah  !  Phoebe,"  said  Hepzibah,  sighing,  "  your  knowl- 
edge would  do  but  little  for  you  here !  And  then  it  is 
a  wretched  thought,  that  you  should  fling  away  your 
young  days  in  a  place  like  this.  Those  cheeks  would  not 
be  so  rosy,  after  a  month  or  two.  Look  at  my  face  !  " 
—  and,  indeed,  the  contrast  was  very  striking,  —  "you 
see  how  pale  I  am !  It  is  my  idea  that  the  dust  and 
continual  decay  of  these  old  houses  are  unwholesome  for 
the  lungs." 

"  There  is  the  garden,  —  the  flowers  to  be  taken  care 
of,"  observed  Phcsbe.  "I  should  keep  myself  healthy 
with  exercise  in  the  open  air." 

"And,  after  all,  child,"  exclaimed  Hepzibah,  sud- 
denly rising,  as  if  to  dismiss  the  subject,  "  it  is  not  for 
me  to  say  who  shall  be  a  guest  or  inhabitant  of  the  old 
Pyncheon  House.     Its  master  is  coming." 

"  Do  you  mean  Judge  Pyncheon  ?  "  asked  Phoebe,  in 
surprise. 

"  Judge  Pyncheon  !  "  answered  her  cousin,  angrily. 
"  He  will  hardly  cross  the  threshold  while  I  live  !  No, 
no !  But,  Phoebe,  you  shall  see  the  face  of  him  I 
speak  of." 

She  went  in  quest  of  the  miniature  already  described, 
and  returned  with  it  in  her  hand.     Giving  it  to  Phcebe, 


MAY   AND   NOVEMBER.  91 

she  watched  her  features  narrowly,  and  with  a  certain 
jealousy  as  to  the  mode  in  which  the  girl  would  show 
herself  affected  by  the  picture. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  face  ?  "  asked  Hepzibah. 

"  It  is  handsome  !  —  it  is  very  beautiful !  "  said 
Phoebe,  admiringly.  "  It  is  as  sweet  a  face  as  a  man's 
can  be,  or  ought  to  be.  It  has  something  of  a  child's 
expression,  —  and  yet  not  childish,  —  only  one  feels  so 
very  kindly  towards  him !  He  ought  never  to  suffer 
anything.  One  would  bear  much  for  the  sake  of  sparing 
him  toil  or  sorrow.     Who  is  it.  Cousin  Hepzibah  ?  " 

"Did  you  never  hear,"  whispered  her  cousin,  bending 
towards  her,  "  of  Clifford  Pyncheon  ?  " 

"  Never  !  I  thought  there  were  no  Pyncheons  left, 
except  yourself  and  our  cousin  Jaffrey,"  answered 
Phcebe.  "And  yet  I  seem  to  have  heard  the  name  of 
Clifford  Pyncheon.  Yes !  —  from  my  father,  or  my 
mother;  but  has  he  not  been  a  long  while  dead/" 

"  Well,  well,  child,  perhaps  he  has  !  "  said  Hepzibah, 
with  a  sad,  hollow  laugh ;  "  but,  in  old  houses  like  this, 
you  know,  dead  people  are  very  apt  to  come  back  again ! 
We  shall  see.  And,  Cousin  Phoebe,  since,  after  all  that 
I  have  said,  your  courage  does  not  fail  you,  we  will  not 
part  so  soon.  You  are  welcome,  my  child,  for  the  pres- 
ent, to  such  a  home  as  your  kinswoman  can  offer  you." 

With  this  measured,  but  not  exactly  cold  assurance  of 
a  hospitable  purpose,  Hepzibah  kissed  her  cheek. 

They  now  went  below  stairs,  where  Phoebe  —  not  so 
much  assuming  the  office  as  attracting  it  to  herself,  by  the 
magnetism  of  innate  fitness  —  took  the  most  active  part 
in  preparing  breakfast.  The  mistress  of  the  house,  mean- 
while, as  is  usual  with  persons  of  her  stiff  and  unmal- 
leable  cast,  stood  mostly  aside  ;  wilKng  to  lend  her  aid, 
yet  conscious  that  her  natural  inaptitude  would  be  likely 


92    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

to  impede  tlie  business  in  hand.  Phoebe,  and  the  fire 
that  boiled  the  teakettle,  were  equally  bright,  cheerful, 
and  efficient,  in  their  respective  offices.  Hepzibah  gazed 
forth  from  her  habitual  sluggishness,  the  necessary  result 
of  long  solitude,  as  from  another  sphere.  She  could  not 
help  being  interested,  however,  and  even  amused,  at  the 
readmess  with  which  her  new  inmate  adapted  herself  to 
the  circumstances,  and  brought  the  house,  moreover,  and 
all  its  rusty  old  apphances,  into  a  suitableness  for  her 
purposes.  Whatever  she  did,  too,  was  done  without 
conscious  effort,  and  with  frequent  outbreaks  of  song, 
which  were  exceedingly  pleasant  to  the  ear.  This  natu- 
ral tunefulness  made  Phcebe  seem  like  a  bird  in  a  shad- 
owy tree ;  or  conveyed  the  idea  that  the  stream  of  Hfe 
warbled  through  her  heart  as  a  brook  sometimes  warbles 
through  a  pleasant  little  dell.  It  betokened  the  cheeri- 
ness  of  an  active  temperament,  finding  joy  in  its  activity, 
and,  therefore,  rendering  it  beautiful;  it  was  a  New 
England  trait,  —  the  stern  old  stuff  of  Puritanism  with  a 
gold  thread  in  the  web. 

Hepzibah  brought  out  some  old  silver  spoons,  with  the 
family  crest  upon  them,  and  a  china  tea-set,  painted  over 
with  grotesque  figures  of  man,  bird,  and  beast,  in  as  gro- 
tesque a  landscape.  These  pictured  people  were  odd 
humorists,  in  a  world  of  their  own,  —  a  world  of  vivid 
brilliancy,  so  far  as  color  went,  and  still  unfaded,  al- 
though the  teapot  and  small  cups  were  as  ancient  as  the 
custom  itself  of  tea-drinking. 

"  Your  great-great -great-great -grandmother  had  these 
cups,  when  she  was  married,"  said  Hepzibah  to  Phoebe. 
"  She  was  a  Davenport,  of  a  good  family.  They  were 
almost  the  first  teacups  ever  seen  in  the  colony ;  and  if 
one  of  them  were  to  be  broken,  my  heart  would  break 
with  it.     But  it  is  nonsense  to  speak  so  about  a  brittle 


MAY    AND    NOVEMBER.  93 

teacup,  when  I  remember  what  my  heart  has  gone 
through,  without  breaking." 

The  cups  —  not  having  been  used,  perhaps,  since 
Hepzibah's  youth  —  had  contracted  no  small  burden  of 
dust,  which  Phoebe  washed  away  with  so  much  care  and 
delicacy  as  to  satisfy  even  the  proprietor  of  this  invalua- 
ble china. 

*'  What  a  nice  little  housewife  you  are  !  "  exclaimed 
the  latter,  smiling,  and,  at  the  same  time,  frowning  so 
prodigiously  that  the  smile  was  sunshine  under  a  thun- 
der-cloud. "  Do  you  do  other  things  as  well  ?  Are 
you  as  good  at  your  book  as  you  are  at  washing  tea- 
cups ?  " 

"  Not  quite,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Phoebe,  laughing  at 
the  form  of  Hepzibah's  question.  "  But  I  was  school- 
mistress for  the  little  children  in  our  district,  last  sum- 
mer, and  might  have  been  so  still." 

"  Ah  !  't  is  all  very  well !  "  observed  the  maiden  lady, 
drawing  herself  up.  "  But  these  thmgs  must  have  come 
to  you  with  your  mother's  blood.  I  never  knew  a  Pyn- 
cheon  that  had  any  turn  for  them." 

It  is  very  queer,  but  not  the  less  true,  that  people  are 
generally  quite  as  vain,  or  even  more  so,  of  their  deficien- 
cies, than  of  their  available  gifts ;  as  was  Hepzibah  of 
this  native  inapplicability,  so  to  speak,  of  the  Pyncheons 
to  any  useful  purpose.  She  regarded  it  as  an  hereditary 
trait ;  and  so,  perhaps,  it  was,  but,  unfortunately,  a  mor- 
bid  one,  such  as  is  often  generated  in  families  that  remain 
long  above  the  surface  of  society. 

Before  they  left  the  breakfast-table,  tlie  shop-bell  rang 
sharply,  and  Hepzibah  set  down  the  remnant  of  her  final 
cup  of  tea,  with  a  look  of  sallow  despair  that  was  truly 
piteous  to  behold.  In  cases  of  distasteful  occupation,  the 
second  day  is  generally  worse  than  the  first ;  we  return 


94    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

to  the  rack  with  all  the  soreness  of  the  precedmg  torture 
in  our  hnibs.  At  all  events,  Hepzibah  had  fully  satisfied 
herself  of  the  impossibility  of  ever  becoming  wonted  to 
this  peevishly  obstreperous  little  bell.  Ring  as  often  as 
it  might,  the  sound  always  smote  upon  her  nervous  sys- 
tem rudely  and  suddenly.  And  especially  now,  while, 
with  her  crested  teaspoons  and  antique  china,  she  was 
flattermg  herself  with  ideas  of  gentility,  she  felt  an  un. 
speakable  disinclination  to  confront  a  customer. 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself,  dear  cousin  !  "  cried  Phoebe, 
starting  lightly  up.     "  I  am  shop-keeper  to-day." 

"  You,  child !  "  exclaimed  Hepzibah,  "  What  can  a 
little  country -girl  know  of  such  matters  ?  " 

"  O,  I  have  done  all  the  shopping  for  the  family,  at 
our  village  store,"  said  Phoebe.  "And  I  have  had  a 
table  at  a  fancy  fair,  and  made  better  sales  than  anybody. 
These  things  are  not  to  be  learnt ;  they  depend  upon  a 
knack,  that  comes,  I  suppose,"  added  she,  smiling,  "  with 
one's  mother's  blood.  You  shall  see  that  I  am  as  nice  a 
little  saleswoman  as  I  am  a  housewife !  " 

The  old  gentlewoman  stole  behmd  Phoebe,  and  peeped 
from  the  passage-way  into  the  shop,  to  note  how  she 
would  manage  her  undertaking.  It  was  a  case  of  some 
intricacy,  A  very  ancient  woman,  in  a  white  short  gowu 
and  a  green  petticoat,  with  a  string  of  gold  beads  about 
her  neck,  and  what  looked  like  a  nightcap  on  her  head, 
had  brought  a  quantity  of  yarn  to  barter  for  the  com- 
modities of  the  shop.  She  was  probably  the  very  last 
person  in  town  who  still  kept  the  time-honored  spinning- 
wheel  in  constant  revolution.  It  was  worth  while  to  hear 
the  croaking  and  hollow  tones  of  the  old  lady,  and  the 
pleasant  voice  of  Phoebe,  mingling  in  one  twisted  thread 
of  talk;  and  still  better,  to  contrast  their  figures,  —  so 
light  and  bloomy,  —  so  decrepit  and  dusky,  —  with  only 


MAY    AND    NOVEMBER.  95 

the  counter  betwixt  them,  in  one  sense,  but  more  than 
threescore  years,  in  another.  As  for  the  bargain,  it  was 
wrinkled  slyness  and  craft  pitted  against  native  truth  and 
sagacity. 

"Was  not  that  well  done?"  asked  Phoebe,  laughing, 
when  the  customer  was  gone. 

"  Nicely  done,  indeed,  child !  "  answered  Hepzibah. 
"  I  could  not  have  gone  through  with  it  nearly  so  well. 
As  you  say,  it  must  be  a  knack  that  belongs  to  you  on 
the  mother's  side." 

It  is  a  very  genuine  admiration,  that  with  which  per- 
sons too  shy  or  too  awkward  to  take  a  due  part  in  the 
bustling  world  regard  the  real  actors  in  life's  stirring 
scenes ;  so  genuine,  in  fact,  that  the  former  are  usually 
fain  to  make  it  palatable  to  their  self-love,  by  assuming 
that  these  active  and  forcible  qualities  are  incompatible 
with  others,  which  they  chose  to  deem  higher  and  more 
important.  Thus,  Hepzibah  was  well  content  to  acknowl- 
edge Phoebe's  vastly  superior  gifts  as  a  shop-keeper ;  she 
listened,  with  compliant  ear,  to  her  suggestion  of  various 
methods  whereby  the  influx  of  trade  might  be  increased, 
and  rendered  profitable,  without  a  hazardous  outlay  of 
capital.  She  consented  that  the  village  maiden  should 
manufacture  yeast,  both  liquid  and  in  cakes ;  and  should 
brew  a  certam  kind  of  beer,  nectareous  to  the  palate,  and 
T)f  rare  stomachic  virtues ;  and,  moreover,  should  bake 
and  exhibit  for  sale  some  little  spice-cakes,  which  whoso- 
ever tasted  would  longingly  desire  to  taste  again.  All 
such  proofs  of  a  ready  mind  and  skilful  handiwork  were 
highly  acceptable  to  the  aristocratic  hucksteress,  so  long 
as  she  could  murmur  to  herself,  with  a  grim  smile,  and  a 
half-natural  sigh,  and  a  sentiment  of  mixed  wonder,  pity, 
and  growing  affection,  — 

"  What  a  nice  little  body  she  is !     If  she  could  only  be 


96    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

a  lady,  too  !  —  but  that 's  impossible  !    Plicebe  is  no  Pyn- 
cheon.     She  takes  everything  from  her  mother." 

As  to  Phcebe's  not  being  a  lady,  or  whether  she  were 
a  lady  or  no,  it  was  a  point,  perhaps,  difficult  to  decide, 
but  which  could  hardly  have  come  up  for  judgment  at 
all,  in  any  fair  and  healthy  mind.  Out  of  New  England, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  meet  with  a  person  combining 
so  many  lady -like  attributes  with  so  many  others  that  form 
no  necessary  (if  compatible)  part  of  the  character.  She 
shocked  no  canon  of  taste ;  she  was  admirably  in  keeping 
with  herself,  and  never  jarred  against  surrounding  cir- 
cumstances. Her  figure,  to  be  sure,  —  so  small  as  to  be 
almost  childlike,  and  so  elastic  that  motion  seemed  as 
easy  or  easier  to  it  than  rest,  —  would  hardly  have  suited 
one's  idea  of  a  countess.  Neither  did  her  face  —  with 
the  brown  ringlets  on  either  side,  and  the  slightly  piquant 
nose,  and  the  wholesome  bloom,  and  the  clear  sliade  of 
tan,  and  the  half  a  dozen  freckles,  friendly  remembrancers 
of  the  April  sun  and  breeze  —  precisely  give  us  a  right 
to  call  her  beautiful.  But  there  was  both  lustre  and  depth 
in  her  eyes.  She  was  very  pretty  ;  as  graceful  as  a  bird, 
and  graceful  much  in  the  same  way ;  as  pleasant  about 
■*;he  house  as  a  gleam  of  sunshme,  falling  on  the  floor 
through  a  shadow  of  twinkling  leaves,  or  as  a  ray  of  fire- 
light that  dances  on  the  wall,  while  evening  is  drawing 
nigh.  Instead  of  discussing  her  claim  to  rank  among 
ladies,  it  would  be  preferable  to  regard  Phoebe  as  the  ex- 
ample of  feminine  grace  and  availability  combined,  m  a 
state  of  society,  if  there  were  any  such,  where  ladies  did 
not  exist.  There  it  should  be  woman's  office  to  move  in 
{ha  midst  of  practical  affairs,  and  to  gild  them  all,  the 
very  homeUest,  —  were  it  even  the  scouring  of  pots  and 
kettles,  —  with  an  atmosphere  of  loveliness  and  joy. 
t-'acl-  w:).s  tlie  sphere  of  Phoebe.     To  find  the  bora  and 


•      MAY    AND    NOVEMBER.  97 

educated  lady,  on  the  other  hand,  we  need  look  no  farther 
than  Hepzibah,  our  forlorn  old  maid,  in  her  rustling  and 
rusty  silks,  with  her  deeply  cherished  and  ridiculous  con- 
sciousness of  long  descent,  her  shadowy  claims  to  princely 
territory,  and,  in  the  way  of  accomplishment,  her  recollec- 
tions, it  may  be,  of  having  formerly  thrummed  on  a  harp- 
sichord, and  walked  a  minuet,  and  worked  an  antique 
tapestry-stitch  on  her  sampler.  It  was  a  fair  parallel 
between  new  Plebeianism  and  old  Gentility. 

It  really  seemed  as  if  the  battered  visage  of  the  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables,  black  and  heavy-browed  as  it  still 
certainly  looked,  must  have  shown  a  kind  of  cheerfulness 
glimmxering  through  its  dusky  windows,  as  Phoebe  passed 
to  and  fro  in  the  interior.  Otherwise,  it  is  impossible  to 
explain  how  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  so  soon  be- 
came aware  of  the  girl's  presence.  There  was  a  great 
run  of  custom,  setting  steadily  in,  from  about  ten  o'clock 
until  towards  noon,  —  relaxing,  somewhat,  at  dimier- 
time,  but  recommencing  in  the  afternoon,  and,  finally, 
dying  away  a  half  an  hour  or  so  before  the  long  day's 
sunset.  One  of  the  stanchest  patrons  was  little  Ned 
Higgins,  the  devourer  of  Jim  Crow  and  the  elephant, 
who  to-day  had  signalized  his  omnivorous  prowess  by 
swallowing  two  dromedaries  and  a  locomotive.  Phoebe 
laughed,  as  she  summed  up  her  aggregate  of  sales,  upon 
the  slate ;  while  Hepzibah,  first  drawing  on  a  pair  of  silk 
gloves,  reckoned  over  the  sordid  accumulation  of  copper 
coin,  not  without  silver  intermixed,  that  had  jingled  into 
the  till. 

"  We  must  renew  our  stock,  Cousin  Hepzibah  !  "  cried 
the  little  saleswoman.  "  The  gingerbread  figures  are  ail 
gone,  and  so  are  those  Dutch  wooden  milkmaids,  and 
most  of  our  other  playthings.  There  lias  been  constant 
inquiry  for  cheap  raisins,  and  a  great  cry  for  whistles, 


98    THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

and  trumpets,  and  je^r's-liarps  ;  and  at  least  a  dozen  little 
boys  have  asked  for  molasses-candy.  And  we  must  con- 
trive to  get  a  peck  of  russet  apples,  late  in  the  season  as 
it  is.  But,  dear  cousin,  'what  an  enormous  heap  of  cop- 
per !     Positively  a  copper  mountain  !  " 

"  Well  done  !  well  done  !  well  done  !  "  quoth  Uucle 
Venner,  who  had  taken  occasion  to  shuffle  in  and  out 
of  the  shop  several  times,  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
"  Here 's  a  girl  that  will  never  end  her  days  at  my  farm ! 
Bless  my  eyes,  what  a  brisk  little  soul !  " 

"  Yes,  Phoebe  is  a  nice  girl !  "  said  Hepzibah,  with  a 
scowl  of  austere  approbation.  "But,  Uncle  Venner,  you 
have  known  the  family  a  great  many  years.  Can  you 
tell  me  whether  there  ever  was  a  Pyncheon  whom  she 
takes  after  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was,"  answered  the  ven- 
erable man.  "  At  any  rate,  it  never  was  ray  luck  to  see 
her  Hke  among  them,  nor,  for  that  matter,  anywhere  else. 
I  've  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  not  only  m  people's 
kitchens  and  back-yards,  but  at  the  street-corners,  and 
on  the  whaiwes,  and  in  other  places  where  my  business 
calls  me ;  and  I  'm  free  to  say,  Miss  Hepzibah,  that  I 
never  knew  a  human  creature  do  her  work  so  much  like 
one  of  God's  angels  as  this  child  Phoebe  does !  " 

Uncle  Venner's  eulogium,  if  it  appear  rather  too  high- 
strained  for  the  person  and  occasion,  had,  nevertheless, 
a  sense  in  which  it  was  both  subtile  and  true.  There  was 
a  spiritual  quality  in  Phoebe's  activity.  The  life  of  the 
long  and  busy  day  —  spent  in  occupations  that  might 
so  easily  have  taken  a  squalid  and  ugly  aspect  —  had 
been  made  pleasant,  and  even  lovely,  by  the  spontaneous 
grace  with  which  these  homely  duties  seemed  to  bloom 
out  of  her  character;  so  that  labor,  while  she  dealt  with 
it,  had  the  easy  and  flexible  charm  of  play.     Angels  do 


MAY  AND  NOVEMBER.  99 

not  toil,  but  let  their  good  works  grow  out  of  them  ;  and 
so  did  Phoebe. 

The  two  relatives  —  the  young  maid  and  the  old  one 
—  found  time,  before  nightfall,  in  the  intervals  of  trade, 
to  make  rapid  advances  towards  affection  and  confidence. 
A  recluse,  like  Hepzibah,  usually  displays  remarkable 
frankness,  and  at  least  temporary  affability,  on  being 
absolutely  cornered,  and  brought  to  the  point  of  personal 
intercourse;  like  the  angel  whom  Jacob  wrestled  with, 
she  is  ready  to  bless  you,  when  once  overcome. 

The  old  gentlewoman  took  a  dreary  and  proud  satis- 
faction in  leading  Phoebe  from  room  to  room  of  the  house, 
and  recounting  the  traditions  with  which,  as  we  may  say, 
the  walls  were  lugubriously  frescoed.  She  showed  the 
indentations  made  by  the  lieutenant-governor's  sword- 
hilt  in  the  door-panels  of  the  apartment  where  old  Colo- 
nel Pyncheon,  a  dead  host,  had  received  his  affrighted 
visitors  with  an  awful  frown.  The  dusky  terror  of  that 
frown,  Hepzibah  observed,  was  thought  to  be  lingering 
ever  since  in  the  passage-way.  She  bade  Phoebe  step 
into  one  of  the  tall  chairs,  and  inspect  the  ancient  map 
of  the  Pyncheon  territory  at  the  eastward.  In  a  tract  of 
land  on  which  she  laid  her  finger,  there  existed  a  silver- 
mine,  the  locahty  of  which  was  precisely  pointed  out  in 
some  memoranda  of  Colonel  Pyncheon  himself,  but  only 
to  be  made  known  when  the  family  claim  should  be  recog- 
nized by  government.  Thus  it  was  for  the  interest  of  all 
New  England  that  the  Pyncheons  should  have  justice  done 
them.  She  told,  too,  how  that  there  was  undoubtedly  an 
unmense  treasure  of  English  guineas  hidden  somewhere 
about  the  house,  or  in  the  cellar,  or  possibly  in  the  garden. 

"If  you  should  happen  to  find  it,  Phoebe,"  said  Hep- 
zibah, glancing  aside  at  her,  with  a  grim  yet  kindly  smde, 
"  we  wi]^  tie  up  the  shop-bell  for  good  and  all  1 " 


100   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  Yes,  dear  cousin,"  answered  Phoebe ;  "  but,  in  the 
mean  time,  I  hear  somebody  ringing  it !  " 

When  the  customer  was  gone,  Hepzibah  talked  rather 
vaguely,  and  at  great  length,  about  a  certain  AHce 
Pyncheon,  who  had  been  exceedingly  beautiful  and  ac- 
compUshed  in  her  lifetime,  a  hundred  years  ago.  The 
fragrance  of  her  rich  and  delightful  character  still  lin- 
gered about  the  place  where  she  had  hved,  as  a  dried 
rosebud  scents  the  drawer  where  it  has  withered  and 
perished.  This  lovely  Alice  had  met  with  some  great 
and  mysterious  calamity,  and  had  grown  tliin  and  white, 
and  gradually  faded  out  of  the  world.  But,  even  now, 
she  was  supposed  to  haunt  the  House  of  the  Seven  Ga- 
bles, and,  a  great  many  times,  —  especially  when  one  of 
the  Pyncheons  was  to  die,  —  she  had  been  heard  playing 
sadly  and  beautifully  on  the  harpsichord.  One  of  these 
tunes,  just  as  it  had  sounded  from  her  spiritual  touch, 
had  been  vnitten  down  by  an  amateur  of  music ;  it  wa^ 
so  exquisitely  mournful  that  nobody,  to  this  day,  could 
bear  to  hear  it  played,  unless  when  a  great  sorrow  had 
made  them  know  the  still  profounder  sweetness  of  it. 

"  Was  it  the  same  harpsichord  that  you  showed  me  ?  " 
inquired  Phoebe. 

"  The  very  same,"  said  Hepzibah.  "  It  was  Alice 
Pyncheon's  harpsichord.  When  I  was  learning  music, 
my  father  would  never  let  me  open  it.  So,  as  I  could 
only  play  on  my  teacher's  instrument,  I  have  forgotten 
all  my  music,  long  ago." 

Leaving  these  antique  themes,  the  old  lady  began  to 
talk  about  the  daguerreotypist,  whom,  as  he  seemed  to 
be  a  well-meaning  and  orderly  young  man,  and  in  narrow 
circumstances,  she  had  permitted  to  take  up  his  residence 
in  one  of  the  seven  gables.  But,  on  seeing  more  of  Mr. 
Holgrave,  she  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  him.     He 


MAY   AND    NOVEMBER.  101 

i»ad  thft  stra-Dgest  companions  imaginable :  men  with  long 
beards,  and  dressed  in  linen  blouses,  and  other  such  new- 
fangled  and  ill-fitting  garments ;  reformers,  temperance 
lecturers,  and  all  manner  of  cross-looking  philanthropists; 
community-iDen,  and  come-outers,  as  Hepzibah  believed, 
who  acknowledged  no  law,  and  ate  no  solid  food,  but 
lived  on  the  scent  of  other  people's  cookery,  and  turned 
up  their  noses  at  the  fare.  As  for  the  daguerreotjpist, 
she  had  read  -a  paragraph  in  a  penny  paper,  the  other 
day,  accusing  him  of  making  a  speech  full  of  wild  and 
disorganizing  matter,  at  a  meeting  of  his  banditti-like 
associates.  Eor  her  own  part,  she  had  reason  to  believe 
that  he  practised  animal  magnetism,  and,  if  such  things 
were  in  fashion  nowadays,  should  be  apt  to  suspect  him 
of  studying  the  Black  Art,  up  there  in  his  lonesome 
chamber. 

"  But,  dear  cousin,"  said  Phoebe,  "  if  the  young  man 
is  so  dangerous,  why  do  you  let  him  stay  ?  If  he  does 
nothing  worse,  he  may  set  the  house  on  fire ! " 

"  Why,  sometimes,"  answered  Hepzibah,  "  I  have 
seriously  made  it  a  question,  whether  I  ought  not  to 
send  him  away.  But,  with  all  his  oddities,  he  i**  a  quiet 
kind  of  a  person,  and  has  such  a  way  of  taking  hold  of 
one's  mind,  that,  without  exactly  liking  him  (for  I  don't 
know  enough  of  the  young  man),  I  should  be  sorry  to 
lose  sight  of  him  entirely.  A  woman  clings  to  slight 
acquaintances,  when  she  lives  so  much  alone  as  I  do.'* 

"  But  if  Mr.  Holgrave  is  a  lawless  person  !  "  remon- 
strated Phoebe,  a  part  of  whose  essence  it  was  to  kerp 
within  the  limits  of  law. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Hepzibah,  carelessly,  — for,  formal  as  she 
was,  stUl,  in  her  life's  experience,  she  had  gnashed  her 
teeth  against  human  law,  —  "I  suppose  he  has  a  law  of 
his  own ! " 


VI. 


MAULE'S  WELL. 


ETEE,  an  early  tea,  tlie  little  country -girl  strayed 
into  the  garden.  Tlie  enclosure  had  formerly 
been  very  extensive,  but  was  now  contracted 
within  small  compass,  and  hemmed  about,  partly  by  high 
wooden  fences,  and  partly  by  the  outbuildings  of  houses 
that  stood  on  another  street.  In  its  centre  was  a  grass- 
plat,  surrounding  a  ruinous  little  structure,  which  showed 
just  enough  of  its  original  design  to  indicate  that  it  had 
once  been  a  summer-house.  A  hop-vine,  springing  from 
last  year's  root,  was  beginning  to  clamber  over  it,  but 
would  be  long  in  covering  the  roof  with  its  green  mantle. 
Three  of  the  seven  gables  either  fronted  or  looked  side- 
vrays,  with  a  dark  solemnity  of  aspect,  down  into  the 
garden. 

The  black,  rich  soil  had  fed  itself  with  the  decay  of  a 
long  period  of  time ;  such  as  fallen  leaves,  the  petals  of 
flowers,  and  the  stalks  and  seed-vessels  of  vagrant  and 
lawless  plants,  more  useful  after  their  death  than  ever 
while  flaunting  in  the  san.  The  evil  of  these  departed 
years  would  naturally  have  sprung  up  again,  in  such 
rank  weeds  (symbolic  of  the  transmitted  vices  of  society) 
as  are  always  prone  to  root  themselves  about  human 


MAULE'S    WELL.  103 

dwellings.  Phoebe  saw,  however,  that  their  growth  must 
have  been  checked  by  a  degree  of  careful  labor,  bestowed 
daily  and  systematically  on  the  garden.  The  white  double 
rose-bush  had  evidently  been  propped  up  anew  against 
the  house,  since  the  commencement  of  the  season;  and 
a  pear-tree  and  three  damson-trees,  which,  except  a  row 
of  currant-bushes,  constituted  the  only  varieties  of  fruit, 
bore  marks  of  the  recent  amputation  of  several  super- 
fluous or  defective  limbs.  There  were  also  a  few  species 
of  antique  and  hereditary  flowers,  in  no  very  flourishing 
condition,  but  scrupulously  weeded ;  as  if  some  person, 
either  out  of  love  or  curiosity,  had  been  anxious  to  bring 
them  to  such  perfection  as  they  were  capable  of  attaining. 
The  remainder  of  the  garden  presented  a  well-selected 
assortment  of  esculent  vegetables,  m  a  praiseworthy 
state  of  advancement.  Summer  squashes,  almost  ha 
their  golden  blossom;  cucumbers,  now  evincing  a  ten- 
dency to  spread  away  from  the  maiu  stock,  and  ramble 
far  and  wide ;  two  or  three  rows  of  string-beans,  and  as 
many  more  that  were  about  to  festoon  themselves  on 
poles ;  tomatoes,  occupying  a  site  so  sheltered  and  sunny 
that  the  plants  were  already  gigantic,  and  promised  aa 
early  and  abundant  harvest. 

Phoebe  wondered  whose  care  and  toil  it  could  have 
been  that  had  planted  these  vegetables,  and  kept  the 
soil  so  clean  and  orderly.  Not  surely  her  cousin  Hep- 
zibah's,  who  had  no  taste  nor  spirits  for  the  lady -like 
employment  of  cultivating  flowers,  and  —  with  her  re- 
cluse habits,  and  tendency  to  shelter  herself  within  the 
dismal  shadow  of  the  house  —  would  hardly  have  come 
forth,  under  the  speck  of  open  sky,  to  weed  and  hoe 
among  the  fraternity  of  beans  and  squashes. 

It  being  her  first  day  of  complete  estrangement  from 
rural  objects,  Phoebe  found  an  unexpected  charm  in  thia 


104   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

little  nook  of  grass,  and  foliage,  and  aristocratic  flowers, 
and  plebeian  vegetables.  The  eye  of  Heaven  seemeu 
to  look  down  into  it  pleasantly,  and  with  a  peculiar 
smile,  as  if  glad  to  perceive  that  nature,  elsewhere  over- 
v/lielmed,  and  driven  out  of  tlie  dusty  town,  had  here 
been  able  to  retain  a  breathing-place.  The  spot  ac 
quired  a  somewhat  wilder  grace,  and  yet  a  very  gentle 
one,  from  the  fact  that  a  pair  of  robins  had  built  their 
uest  in  the  pear-tree,  and  were  making  themselves  ex- 
ceedingly  busy  and  happy  in  the  dark  intricacy  of  its 
boughs.  Bees,  too,  —  strange,  to  say,  —  had  thought  it 
worth  their  while  to  come  hither,  possibly  from  the  range 
of  hives  beside  some  farm-house  miles  away.  How  many 
aerial  voyages  might  they  have  made,  in  quest  of  honey, 
or  honey-laden,  betwixt  dawn  and  sunset !  Yet,  late  as 
it  now  was,  there  still  arose  a  pleasant  hum  out  of  one  or 
two  of  the  squash-blossoms,  in  the  depths  of  which  these 
bees  were  plying  their  golden  labor.  There  was  one 
other  object  in  the  garden  which  Nature  might  fairly 
claim  as  her  inahenable  property,  in  spite  of  wliatever 
man  could  do  to  render  it  his  own.  This  was  a  fountain, 
set  round  v/ith  a  rim  of  old  mossy  stones,  and  paved,  in 
its  bed,  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  mosaic-work 
of  variously  colored  pebbles.  The  play  and  slight  agita- 
tion of  the  water,  in  its  upward  gush,  wrought  magically 
with  these  variegated  pebbles,  and  made  a  continually 
shifriug  apparition  of  quaint  figures,  vanishing  too  sud- 
denly to  be  definable.  Thence,  swelling  over  the  rim 
of  moss-grown  stones,  the  water  stole  away  under  the 
fence,  through  what  we  regret  to  call  a  gutter,  rather 
than  a  channel. 

Nor  must  we  forget  to  mention  a  hen-coop  of  very 
reverend  antiquity  that  stood  in  the  farther  corner  of 
the  garden,  not  a  great  way  from  the  foimtain.     It  now 


MAULE'S    WELL.  105 

contained  only  Chanticleer,  liis  two  wives,  and  a  solitary 
chicken.  All  of  them  were  pure  specimens  of  a  breed 
which  had  been  transmitted  down  as  an  heirloom  in  the 
Pyncheon  family,  and  were  said,  while  in  their  prime,  to 
have  attained  almost  the  size  of  turkeys,  and,  on  the 
score  of  delicate  flesh,  to  be  fit  for  a  prince's  table.  In 
proof  of  the  authenticity  of  this  legendary  renown,  Hep- 
zibah  could  have  exhibited  the  shell  of  a  great  egg, 
which  an  ostrich  need  hardly  have  been  ashamed  of. 
Be  that  as  it  might,  the  hens  were  now  scarcely  larger 
than  pigeons,  and  had  a  queer,  rusty,  withered  aspect, 
and  a  gouty  kind  of  movement,  and  a  sleepy  and  mel- 
ancholy tone  throughout  all  the  variations  of  their  cluck- 
ing and  cackhng.  It  was  evident  that  the  race  had 
degenerated,  like  many  a  noble  race  besides,  in  conse- 
quence of  too  strict  a  watchfulness  to  keep  it  pure. 
These  feathered  people  had  existed  too  long  in  their 
distinct  variety  ;  a  fact  of  which  the  present  representa- 
tives, judging  by  their  lugubrious  deportment,  seemed 
to  be  aware.  They  kept  themselves  alive,  unquestionably, 
and  laid  now  and  then  an  egg,  and  hatched  a  chicken ; 
not  for  any  pleasure  of  their  own,  but  that  the  Avorld 
might  not  absolutely  lose  what  had  once  been  so  admi-^ 
rable  a  breed  of  fowls.  The  distinguisliii]g  mark  of  the 
liens  was  a  crest  of  lamentably  scanty  growth,  in  these 
latter  days,  but  so  oddly  and  wickedly  analogous  to  Hep- 
zibah's  turban,  that  Phcebe  —  to  the  poignant  distress 
of  her  conscience,  but  inevitably  —  was  led  to  fancy  a 
general  resemblance  betwixt  these  forlorn  bipeds  and  her 
respectable  relative. 

The  girl  ran  into  the  house  to  get  some  crumbs  of 
bread,  cold  potatoes,  and  other  such  scraps  as  were  suit- 
able to  the  accommodating  appetite  of  fowls.  Returning, 
she  gave  a  peculiar  call,  which  they  seemed  to  recognize. 


106   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

The  cbicken  crept  through  the  pales  of  the  coop  and  ran, 
with  some  show  of  liveliuess,  to  her  feet ;  while  Chanti- 
cleer and  the  ladies  of  his  household  regarded  her  with 
queer,  sidelong  glances,  and  then  croaked  one  to  another, 
as  if  communicating  their  sage  opinions  of  her  character. 
So  wise,  as  well  as  antique,  was  their  aspect,  as  to  give 
color  to  the  idea,  not  merely  that  they  were  the  descend- 
ants of  a  time-honored  race,  but  that  they  had  existed, 
in  their  individual  capacity,  ever  suice  the  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables  was  founded,  and  were  somehow  mixed  up 
with  its  destiny.  They  were  a  species  of  tutelary  sprite, 
or  Banshee ;  although  winged  and  feathered  diiferently 
from  most  other  guardian  angels. 

"Here,  you  odd  little  chicken  !  "  said  Phcebe  ;  "  here 
are  some  nice  crumbs  for  you  !  " 

The  chicken,  hereupon,  though  almost  as  venerable  in 
appearance  as  its  mother,  —  possessing,  indeed,  the  whole 
antiquity  of  its  progenitors,  in  miniature,  — mustered  vi- 
vacity enough  to  flutter  upward  and  alight  on  Phoebe's 
shoulder. 

"  That  little  fowl  pays  you  a  high  comphment !  "  said 
a  voice  behind  Phoebe. 

'  Turning  quickly,  she  was  surprised  at  sight  of  a  young 
man,  who  had  found  access  into  the  garden  by  a  door 
opening  out  of  another  gable  than  that  whence  she  had 
emerged.  He  held  a  hoe  in  his  hand,  and,  while  Phoebe 
was  gone  in  quest  of  the  crumbs,  had  begun  to  busy 
himself  with  drawing  up  fi'esh  earth  about  the  roots  of 
the  tomatoes. 

"  The  chicken  really  treats  you  like  an  old  acquaint- 
ance," continued  he,  m  a  quiet  way,  while  a  smile  made 
his  face  pleasanter  than  Phoebe  at  first  fancied  it. 
"  Those  venerable  personages  in  the  coop,  too,  seem  very 
affably  disposed.     You  are  lucky  to  be  in  their  good 


MAULE'S    WELL.  10? 

graces  so  soon !  They  have  known  me  much  longer,  but 
never  honor  me  with  any  familiarity,  though  hardly  a  day 
passes  without  my  bringing  them  food.  ]\iiss  Hepzibah, 
I  suppose,  will  interweave  the  fact  with  her  other  tradi- 
tions, and  set  it  down  that  the  fowls  know  you  to  be  a 
Pyncheon  !  " 

"The  secret  is,"  said  Phoebe,  smiling,  "that  I  have 
learned  how  to  talk  with  hens  and  chickens." 

"  Ah,  but  these  hens,"  answered  the  young  man,  — 
"  these  hens  of  aristocratic  lineage  would  scorn  to  under- 
stand the  vulgar  language  of  a  barn-yard  fowl.  I  prefer 
to  think  —  and  so  would  Miss  Hepzibah  —  that  they 
recognize  the  family  tone.     Tor  you  are  a  Pyncheon  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Phoebe  Pyncheon,"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
manner  of  some  reserve  ;  for  she  v/as  aware  that  her  new 
acquaintance  could  be  no  other  than  the  daguerreotypist, 
of  whose  lawless  propensities  the  old  maid  had  given  her 
a  disagreeable  idea.  "  I  did  not  know  that  my  cousin 
Hepzibah's  garden  was  under  another  person's  care." 

"  Yes,"  said  Holgrave,  "  I  dig,  and  hoe,  and  weed,  in 
this  black  old  earth,  for  the  sake  of  refreshing  myself 
with  what  little  nature  and  simplicity  may  be  left  in  it, 
after  men  have  so  long  sown  and  reaped  here.  I  turn 
up  the  earth  by  way  of  pastime.  My  sober  occupation, 
so  far  as  I  have  any,  is  with  a  hghter  material.  In  short, 
I  make  pictures  out  of  sunshine;  and,  not  to  be  too 
much  dazzled  with  my  own  trade,  I  have  prevailed  with 
Miss  Hepzibah  to  let  me  lodge  in  one  of  these  dusky 
gables.  It  is  like  a  bandage  over  one's  eyes,  to  come 
into  it.  But  would  you  like  to  see  a  specimen  of  my 
productions  ?  " 

"  A  daguerreotype  likeness,  do  you  mean  ? "  asked 
Phoebe,  with  less  reserve  ;  for,  in  spite  of  prejudice,  her 
own  youthfulness  sprang  forward  to  meet  his.     "  I  don't 


10b   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

much  like  pictures  of  that  sort,  —  they  are  so  hard  and 
stern ;  besides  dodging  a\vay  from  the  eye,  and  trying  to 
escape  altogether.  They  are  conscious  of  looking  very 
uuamiable,  I  suppose,  and  therefore  hate  to  be  seen." 

"  If  you  ^vould  permit  me,"  said  the  artist,  looking  at 
Phoebe,  "  I  should  like  to  try  whether  the  daguerreotype 
can  brhig  out  disagreeable  traits  on  a  perfectly  amiable 
face.  But  there  certainly  is  tinith  in  what  you  have  said. 
Most  of  my  likenesses  do  look  unamiable  ;  but  the  very 
sufficient  reason,  I  fancy,  is,  because  the  originals  are 
so.  There  is  a  wonderful  msight  in  Heaven's  broad  and 
simple  simshine.  While  we  give  it  credit  only  for  de- 
picting the  merest  surface,  it  actually  brings  out  the 
secret  character  with  a  truth  that  no  painter  would  ever 
venture  upon,  even  could  he  detect  it.  There  is,  at  least, 
no  flattery  in  my  humble  line  of  art.  Now,  here  is  a 
likeness  which  1  have  taken  over  and  over  again,  and  still 
with  no  better  result.  Yet  the  original  wears,  to  com- 
mon eyes,  a  very  different  expression.  It  would  gratify 
me  to  have  your  judgment  on  this  character." 

He  exhibited  a  daguerreotype  miniature  in  a  mo- 
rocco case.  Phoebe  merely  glanced  at  it,  and  gave  it 
back. 

"I  know  the  face,"  she  replied;  "for  its  stern  eye 
has  been  following  me  about,  all  day.  It  is  my  Puritan 
aiicestor,  who  hangs  yonder  iu  the  jjarlor.  To  be  sure, 
you  have  found  some  way  of  copying  the  portrait  without 
its  black  velvet  cap  and  gray  beard,  and  have  given  him 
a  modern  coat  and  satin  cravat,  instead  of  his  cloak 
and  baud.  I  don't  think  him  improved  by  your  altera- 
tions." 

''You  would  have  seen  other  differences,  had  you 
looked  a  little  longer,"  said  Holgrave,  laughing,  yet  ap- 
parently much  struck.     "  I  can  assure  you  that  this  is  a 


MAULE'S    WELL.  109 

modem  face,  and  one  wliich  you  will  very  probably  meet. 
Now,  the  remarkable  point  is,  that  the  original  wears,  to 
the  world's  eye,  — and,  for  aught  I  know,  to  his  most 
intimate  friends,  —  an  exceedingly  pleasant  countenance, 
indicative  of  benevolence,  openness  of  heart,  sunny  good- 
humor,  and  other  praiseworthy  qualities  of  that  cast. 
The  sun,  as  you  see,  tells  quite  another  story,  and  will 
not  be  coaxed  out  of  it,  after  half  a  dozen  patient  at- 
tempts on  my  part.  Here  we  have  the  man,  sly,  subtle, 
hard,  imperious,  and,  withal,  cold  as  ice.  Look  at  that 
eye !  Would  you  like  to  be  at  its  mercy  ?  At  that 
mouth  !  Could  it  ever  smile  ?  And  yet,  if  you  could 
only  see  the  benign  smile  of  the  original !  It  is  so 
much  the  more  unfortunate,  as  he  is  a  public  character 
of  some  eminence,  and  the  likeness  was  intended  to  be 
engraved." 

"  Well,  I  don't  wish  to  see  it  any  more,"  observed 
Phoebe,  turning  away  her  eyes.  "It  is  certainly  very 
like  the  old  portrait.  But  my  cousin  Hepzibah  has  an- 
other picture,  — a  miniature.  If  the  original  is  still  in 
the  world,  I  think  he  might  defy  the  sun  to  make  him 
look  stern  and  hard." 

"  You  have  seen  that  picture,  then  ! "  exclaimed  the 
artist,  with  an  expression  of  much  interest.  "  I  never 
did,  but  have  a  great  curiosity  to  do  so.  And  you  judge 
favorably  of  the  face  ?  " 

"There  never  was  a  sweeter  one,"  said  Phnebe.  "It 
is  almost  too  soft  and  gentle  for  a  man's." 

"  Is  there  nothing  wild  in  the  eye  ?  "  continued  IIol- 
grave,  so  earnestly  that  it  embarrassed  Phoebe,  as  did 
also  the  quiet  freedom  with  which  he  presumed  on  their 
so  recent  acquaintance.  "  Is  there  nothinG:  dark  or  sin- 
ister, anywhere?  Could  you  not  conceive  v'le  original  to 
have  been  guilty  of  a  great  crime  ?  " 


110   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"It  is  nonsense,"  said  Plicebe,  a  little  impatiently, 
"for  us  to  talk  about  a  picture  which  you  have  never 
seen.  You  mistake  it  for  some  other.  A  crime,  indeed  ! 
Since  you  are  a  friend  of  my  cousin  Hepzibah's,  you 
should  ask  her  to  show  you  the  picture." 

"It  will  suit  my  purpose  still  better  to  see  the  origi- 
nal," replied  tbe  daguerreotypist,  coolly.  "As  to  his 
character,  we  need  not  discuss  its  points ;  they  have 
already  been  settled  by  a  competent  tribunal,  or  one 
which  called  itself  competent.  But,  stay !  Do  not  go 
yet,  if  you  please  !     I  have  a  proposition  to  make  you." 

Phcebe  was  on  the  point  of  retreating,  but  turned 
back,  with  some  hesitation ;  for  she  did  not  exactly  com- 
prehend his  manner,  although,  on  better  observation,  its 
feature  seemed  rather  to  be  lack  of  ceremony  than  any 
approach  to  offensive  rudeness.  There  was  an  odd  kind 
of  authority,  too,  in  what  he  now  proceeded  to  say, 
rather  as  if  the  garden  were  his  own  than  a  place  to 
which  he  was  admitted  merely  by  Hepzibah's  courtesy. 

"If  agreeable  to  you,"  he  observed,  "it  would  give 
me  pleasure  to  turn  over  these  flowers,  and  those  an- 
cient and  respectable  fowls,  to  your  care.  Coming  fresh 
from  country  air  and  occupations,  you  will  soon  feel  the 
need  of  some  such  out-of-door  employment.  My  own 
sphere  does  not  so  much  lie  among  flowers.  You  can 
trim  and  tend  them,  therefore,  as  you  please  ;  and  I  will 
ask  only  the  least  trifle  of  a  blossom,  now  and  then,  in  ex- 
change for  all  the  good,  honest  kitchen-vegetables  with 
which  I  propose  to  enrich  Miss  Hepzibah's  table.  So 
we  will  be  fellow-laborers,  somewhat  on  the  community 
system." 

Silently,  and  rather  surprised  at  her  own  compliance, 
Phoebe  accordingly  betook  herself  to  weeding  a  flower 
bed,  but  busied  herself  still  more  with   cogitations  re- 


MAULE'S    WELL,  111 

specting  this  young  man,  with  whom  she  so  unexpectedly 
found  herself  on  terms  approachmg  to  familiarity.  She 
did  not  altogether  like  him.  His  character  perplexed  the 
little  country -girl,  as  it  might  a  more  practised  observer  ; 
for,  v/hile  the  tone  of  his  conversation  had  generally  been 
playful,  the  impression  left  on  her  mind  was  that  of 
gravity,  and,  except  as  his  youth  modified  it,  almost 
sternness.  She  rebelled,  as  it  were,  against  a  certain 
magnetic  element  in  the  artist's  nature,  which  he  exer- 
cised towards  her,  possibly  without  being  conscious  of  it. 

After  a  little  while,  the  twilight,  deepened  by  the 
shadows  of  the  fruit-trees  and  the  surrounding  build- 
ings, threw  an  obscurity  over  the  garden. 

"  There,"  said  Holgrave,  "  it  is  time  to  give  over 
work  !  That  last  stroke  of  the  hoe  has  cut  oif  a  bean- 
stalk. Good  night,  Miss  Phoebe  Pyncheon  !  Any  bright 
day,  if  you  will  put  one  of  those  rosebuds  in  your  hair, 
and  come  to  my  rooms  in  Central  Street,  I  will  seize  the 
purest  ray  of  sunsliine,  and  make  a  picture  of  the  flower 
and  its  wearer." 

He  retired  towards  his  own  solitary  gable,  but  turned 
his  head,  on  reaching  the  door,  and  called  to  Phoebe, 
with  a  tone  which  certainly  had  laughter  in  it,  yet  which 
seemed  to  be  more  than  half  in  earnest. 

"  Be  careful  not  to  drink  at  Maule's  well !  "  said  he. 
"Neither  drink  nor  bathe  your  face  in  it !  " 

"Maule's  well !  "  answered  Phoebe.  *'  Is  that  it  with 
the  rim  of  mossy  stones  ?  I  have  no  thought  of  drink- 
ing there,  —  but  why  not  ?  " 

"  0,"  rejoined  the  daguerreotypist,  "  because,  like  an 
old  lady's  cup  of  tea,  it  is  water  bewitched  !  " 

He  vanished ;  and  Phoebe,  hugermg  a  moment,  saw  a 
glimmering  hght,  and  then  the  steady  beam  of  a  lamp, 
in  a  chamber  of  the  gable.     On  returning  into  Hepzibah'a 


112   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

apartment  of  the  house,  she  found  the  low-studded  par- 
lor so  diui  and  dusky  that  her  eyes  could  not  penetrate 

.    the  interior.     She  was  indistinctly  aware,  however,  that 
the  gaunt  figure  of  the  old  gentlewoman  was  sitting  in 

'.  one  of  the  sti-aight-backed  chairs,  a  little  withdrawn  from 
the  "oindow,  the  faint  gleam  of  which  showed  the  blanched 
paleness  of  her  cheek,  turned  side  way  towards  a  comer. 
"  Shall  I  light  a  lamp.  Cousin  Hepzibah?"  she  asked. 
"  Do,  if  you  please,  my  dear  child,"  answered  Hepzi- 
bah. '■  But  put  it  on  the  table  in  the  corner  of  the 
passage.  My  eyes  are  weak ;  and  I  can  seldom  bear  the 
lampHght  on  them." 

What  an  instrument  is  the  human  voice  !  How  won- 
derfully responsive  to  every  emotion  of  the  human  soul ! 
In  Hepzibah's  tone,  at  that  moment,  there  was  a  certain 
rich  depth  and  moisture,  as  if  the  words,  commonplace 
as  they  were,  had  been  steeped  in  the  warmth  of  her 
heart.  'Again,  while  lighting  the  lamp  in  the  kitchen, 
Phoebe  fancied  that  her  cousin  spoke  to  her. 

"  In  a  moment,  cousin  I  "  answered  the  giri.  "  These 
matches  just  glimmer,  and  go  out." 

But,  instead  of  a  response  from  Hepzibah,  she  seemed 
to  hear  the  muraiur  of  an  unknown  voice.  It  was 
strangely  indistinct,  however,  and  less  like  articulate 
words  than  an  unshaped  sound,  such  as  would  be  the 
utterance  of  feehng  and  sympathy,  rather  than  of  the 
intellect.  So  vague  was  it,  that  its  impression  or  echo 
in  Phoebe's  mind  was  that  of  unreality.  She  concluded 
that  she  must  have  mistaken  some  other  sound  for  that 
of  the  human  voice;  or  else  that  it  was  altogether  in  her 
fancy. 

Slie  set  the  lighted  lamp  in  the  passage,  and  again 

.    entered  the  parlor.     Hepzibah's  fonn,  though  its  sable 

,•    outline  mingled  with  the  dusk,  was  now  less  imperfectly 


MAULE'S    WELL.  113 

\dsible.  In  the  remoter  parts  of  the  room,  however,  its 
walls  being  so  ill  adapted  to  reflect  light,  there  was 
nearly  the  same  obscurity  as  before. 

"  Cousin,"  said  Phoebe,  "  did  you  speak  to  me  just 
now  ?  " 

"  No,  child  !  "  rephed  Hepzibah. 

Eewer  words  than  before,  but  with  the  same  mysteri- 
ous music  in  them  !  Mellow,  melancholy,  yet  not  mourn- 
ful, the  tone  seemed  to  gush  up  out  of  the  deep  well  of 
Hepzibah's  heart,  all  steeped  in  its  profoundest  emotion. 
There  was  a  tremor  in  it,  too,  that  —  as  all  strong  feeling 
is  electric  —  partly  communicated  itself  to  Phoebe.  The 
girl  sat  silently  for  a  moment.  But  soon,  her  senses  being 
very  acute,  she  became  conscious  of  an  irregular  respira- 
tion in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  room.  Her  physical  or- 
ganization, moreover,  being  at  once  delicate  and  healthy, 
gave  her  a  perception,  operating  with  almost  the  effect  of 
a  spiritual  medium,  that  somebody  was  near  at  hand. 

'•'My  dear  cousin,"  asked  she,  overcoming  an  inde- 
finable reluctance,  "  is  there  not  some  one  in  the  room 
witli  us  ?  " 

"Phoebe,  my  dear  little  girl,"  said  Hepzibah,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  you  were  up  betimes,  and  have  been 
busy  all  day.  Pray  go  to  bed  ;  for  I  am  sure  you  must 
need  rest.  I  will  sit  in  the  parlor  awhile,  and  collect  my 
thoughts.  It  has  been  my  custom  for  more  years,  child, 
than  you  have  hved  !  " 

While  thus  dismissing  her,  the  maiden  lady  stept  for- 
ward, kissed  Phoebe,  and  pressed  her  to  her  heart,  which 
beat  against  the  girl's  bosom  with  a  strong,  high,  and 
tumultuous  swell.  How  came  there  to  be  so  much  love 
in  this  desolate  old  heart,  that  it  could  aff'ord  to  well  over 
thus  abundantly : 

"  Good  night,  cousin,"  said  Phoebe,  strangely  affected 


114  THE  h:use  of  the  seven  gables. 

by  Hepzibah's  manner.     "  If  you  begin  to  love  me,  I  an> 
giad ! " 

She  retired  to  her  chamber,  but  did  not  soon  fall 
asleep,  nor  then  very  profoundly.  At  some  uncertain 
period  in  the  depths  of  night,  and,  as  it  were,  through 
the  thin  veil  of  a  dream,  she  was  conscious  of  a  footstep 
mounting  the  stairs  heavily,  but  not  with  force  and  de- 
cision. The  voice  of  Hepzibah,  with  a  hush  through  it, 
was  going  up  along  with  the  footsteps ;  and,  again, 
responsive  to  her  cousin's  voice,  Phoebe  heard  that 
strange,  vague  murmur,  which  might  be  likened  to  an 
jidistinct  shadow  of  human  utterance. 


VII. 
THE  GUEST. 


HEN  Phoebe  awoke,  —  which  she  did  with  the 
early  twittering  of  the  conjugal  couple  of  robins 
in  the  pear-tree,  —  she  heard  movements  below 
stairs,  and,  hastening  down,  found  Hepzibah  already  in 
the  kitchen.  She  stood  by  a  window,  holding  a  book  in 
close  contiguity  to  her  nose,  as  if  with  the  hope  of  gain- 
ing an  olfactory  acquaintance  with  its  contents,  since  her 
imperfect  vision  made  it  not  very  easy  to  read  them.  If 
any  volume  could  have  manifested  its  essential  wisdom  in 
the  mode  suggested,  it  would  certainly  have  been  the  one 
now  in  Hepzibah's  hand ;  and  the  kitchen,  in  such  an 
event,  would  forthwith  have  steamed  with  the  fragrance 
of  venison,  turkeys,  capons,  larded  partridges,  puddings, 
cakes,  and  Christmas  pies,  in  all  manner  of  elaborate 
mixture  and  concoction.  It  was  a  cookery  book,  full  of 
innumerable  old  fashions  of  English  dishes,  and  illus- 
trated with  engravings,  which  represented  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  table  at  such  banquets  as  it  might  have 
befitted  a  nobleman  to  give,  in  the  great  hall  of  his  castle. 
And,  amid  these  rich  and  potent  devices  of  the  culinary 
art  (not  one  of  which,  probably,  had  been  tested,  within 
the  memory  of  any  man's  grandfather),  poor  Hepzibah 


116   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

was  seeking  for  some  nimble  little  titbit,  which,  with 
what  skill  she  had,  and  such  materials  as  were  at  hand, 
she  might  toss  up  for  breakfast. 

Soon,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  put  aside  the  savory  vol- 
ume, and  inquired  of  Phoebe  whether  old  Speckle,  as  she 
called  one  of  the  hens,  had  laid  an  egg  the  preceding  day. 
Phoebe  ran  to  see,  but  returned  without  the  expected 
treasure  in  her  hand.  At  that  instant,  however,  the  blast 
of  a  fish-dealer's  conch  was  heard,  announcing  his  ap- 
proach along  the  street.  With  energetic  raps  at  the  shop- 
window,  Hepzibah  summoned  the  man  in,  and  made  pur- 
chase of  what  he  warranted  as  the  finest  mackerel  m  his 
cart,  and  as  fat  a  one  as  ever  he  felt  with  his  finger  so  early 
in  the  season.  Requesting  Phoebe  to  roast  some  coffee,  — 
which  she  casually  observed  was  the  real  Mocha,  and  so 
long  kept  that  each  of  the  small  berries  ought  to  be 
worth  its  weight  in  gold,  —  the  maiden  lady  heaped  fuel 
into  the  vast  receptacle  of  the  ancient  fireplace  in  such 
quantity  as  soon  to  drive  the  lingering  dusk  out  of  the 
kitchen.  The  country-girl,  willing  to  give  her  utmost 
assistance,  proposed  to  make  an  Indian  cake,  after  her 
mother's  peculiar  method,  of  easy  manufacture,  and 
which  she  could  vouch  for  as  possessing  a  richness,  and, 
if  rightly  prepared,  a  delicacy,  unequalled  by  any  other 
mode  of  breakfast-cake.  Hepzibah  gladly  assenting,  the 
kitchen  was  soon  the  scene  of  savory  preparation.  Per- 
chance, amid  their  proper  element  of  smoke,  which  eddied 
forth  from  the  ill-constructed  chimney,  the  ghosts  of 
departed  cook-maids  looked  wonderingly  on,  or  peeped 
down  the  great  breadth  of  the  flue,  despising  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  projected  meal,  yet  ineffectually  pining  to 
thrust  their  shadowy  hands  into  each  inchoate  dish.  The 
half-starved  rats,  at  any  rate,  stole  visibly  out  of  their 
hiding-places,  and  sat   on  their  hind-legs,  snuffing  the 


THE    GUEST.  117 

fumy  atmosphere,  and  wistfully  awaiting  an  opportunity 
to  nibble. 

Ilepzibah  had  no  natural  turn  for  cookery,  and,  to  say 
the  truth,  had  fairly  incurred  her  present  meagreness,  by 
often  choosing  to  go  without  her  dinner,  rather  than  be 
attendant  on  the  rotation  of  the  spit,  or  ebullition  of  the 
pot.  Her  zeal  over  the  fire,  therefore,  was  quite  an 
heroic  test  of  sentimsnt.  It  was  touching,  and  positively 
worthy  of  tears  (if  I'licebe,  the  only  spectator,  except  the 
rats  and  ghosts  aforesaid,  had  not  been  better  employed 
than  in  shedding  them),  to  see  her  rake  out  a  bed  of 
fresh  and  glowing  coals,  and  proceed  to  broil  the  mack- 
erel. Her  usually  pale  cheeks  were  all  ablaze  with  heat 
and  hurry.  She  watched  the  fish  with  as  much  tender 
care  and  minuteness  of  attention  as  if,  —  we  know  not 
how  to  express  it  otherwise,  —  as  if  her  own  heart  were 
on  the  gridiron,  and  her  immortal  happiness  were  in- 
volved in  its  being  done  precisely  to  a  turn ! 

Life,  within  doors,  has  few  pleasanter  prospects  than 
a  neatly  arranged  and  well-provisioned  breakfast-table. 
We  come  to  it  freshly,  in  the  dewy  youth  of  the  day,  and 
when  our  spiritual  and  sensual  elements  are  in  better 
accord  than  at  a  later  period ;  so  that  the  material  de- 
liglits  of  the  morning  meal  are  capable  of  being  fully 
enjoyed,  without  any  very  grievous  reproaches,  whether 
gastric  or  conscientious,  for  yielding  even  a  trifle  over- 
mucli  to  the  animal  department  of  our  nature.  The 
thoughts,  too,  that  run  around  the  ring  of  famiUar 
guests,  have  a  piquancy  and  mirthfulness,  and  often- 
times a  vivid  truth,  which  more  rarely  find  their  way 
into  the  elaborate  intercourse  of  dinner.  Hepzibah's 
small  and  ancient  table,  supported  on  its  slender  and 
graceful  legs,  and  covered  with  a  cloth  of  the  richest 
damask,  looked  worthy  to  be  the  scene  and  centre  of  one 


118   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

of  the  cheerfullest  of  parties.  The  vapor  of  the  broiled 
fish  arose  like  incense  from  the  shrine  of  a  barbarian  idol, 
while  the  fragrance  of  the  Mocha  might  have  gratified 
tlie  nostrils  of  a  tutelary  Lar,  or  whatever  power  has 
scope  over  a  modern  breakfast-table.  Phcebe's  Indian 
cakes  were  the  sweetest  offering  of  all,  —  in  their  hue 
befitting  the  rustic  altars  of  the  innocent  and  golden  age, 

—  or,  so  brightly  yellow  were  they,  resembling  some  of 
the  bread  which  was  changed  to  glistening  gold,  when 
Midas  tried  to  eat  it.     The  butter  must  not  be  forgotten, 

—  butter  which  Phoebe  herself  had  churned,  in  her  own 
rural  home,  and  brought  it  to  her  cousin  as  a  propitia- 
tory gift,  —  smelling  of  clover-blossoms,  and  diffusing  the 
charm  of  pastoral  scenery  through  the  dark -panelled  par- 
lor. All  this,  with  the  quaint  gorgeousness  of  the  old 
china  cups  and  saucers,  and  the  crested  spoons,  and  a 
silver  cream-jug  (Hepzibah's  only  other  article  of  plate, 
and  shaped  like  the  rudest  porringer),  set  out  a  board  at 
which  the  statehest  of  old  Colonel  Pyncheon's  guests 
need  not  have  scorned  to  take  his  place.  But  the  Puri- 
tan's face  scowled  down  out  of  the  picture,  as  if  nothing 
on  the  table  pleased  his  appetite. 

By  way  of  contributing  what  grace  she  could,  Phoebe 
gathered  some  roses  and  a  few  other  flowers,  possessing 
either  scent  or  beauty,  and  arranged  them  in  a  glass 
pitcher,  which,  having  long  ago  lost  its  handle,  was  so 
much  the  fitter  for  a  flower-vase.  The  early  sunshine — as 
fresh  as  that  which  peeped  into  Eve's  bower,  while  she 
and  Adam  sat  at  breakfast  there  —  came  twinkling 
through  the  branches  of  the  pear-tree,  and  fell  quite 
across  the  table.  All  was  now  ready.  There  were 
chairs  and  plates  for  three.  A  chair  and  plate  for  Hep- 
zibah,  —  the  same  for  Phoebe,  —  but  what  other  guest 
did  her  cousin  look  for? 


THE    GUEST.  119 

Throughout  this  preparatiou,  there  had  been  a  constant 
tremor  in  Hepzibah's  frame;  an  agitation  so  powerful 
that  Phoebe  could  see  the  quivering  of  her  gaunt  shadow, 
as  thrown  by  the  firelight  on  the  kitchen  wall,  or  by  the 
sunshine  on  the  parlor  floor.  Its  manifestations  were  so 
various,  and  agreed  so  little  with  one  another,  that  the 
girl  knew  not  what  to  make  of  it.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
an  ecstasy  of  delight  and  happiness.  At  such  moments, 
Hepzibah  would  fling  out  her  arms,  and  infold  Phoebe  in 
them,  and  kiss  her  cheek  as  tenderly  as  ever  her  mother 
had ;  she  appeared  to  do  so  by  an  inevitable  impulse,  and 
as  if  her  bosom  were  oppressed  with  tenderness,  of  which 
she  must  needs  pour  out  a  little,  in  order  to  gain  breath- 
ing-room. The  next  moment,  without  any  visible  cause 
for  the  change,  her  unwonted  joy  shrank  back,  appalled 
as  it  were,  and  clothed  itself  in  mourning ;  or  it  ran  and 
hid  itself,  so  to  speak,  in  the  dungeon  of  her  heart,  where 
it  had  long  lain  chained,  while  a  cold,  spectral  sorrow 
took  the  place  of  the  imprisoned  joy,  that  was  afraid  to 
be  enfranchised,  —  a  sorrow  as  black  as  that  was  bright. 
She  often  broke  into  a  little,  nervous,  hysteric  laugh, 
more  touchmg  than  any  tears  could  be ;  and  forthwith, 
as  if  to  try  which  was  the  most  touching,  a  gust  of  tears 
would  follow;  or  perhaps  the  laughter  and  tears  came 
both  at  once,  and  surrounded  our  poor  Hepzibah,  in  a 
moral  sense,  with  a  kind  of  pale,  dim  rainbow.  Towards 
Phoebe,  as  we  have  said,  she  was  affectionate,  —  far 
tenderer  than  ever  before,  in  their  brief  acquaintance, 
except  for  that  one  kiss  on  the  preceding  night,  —  yet 
with  a  continually  recurring  pettishness  and  irritability. 
She  would  speak  sharply  to  her;  then,  throwing  aside 
all  the  starched  reserve  of  her  ordinary  manner,  ask 
pardon,  and  the  next  instant  renew  the  just-forgiven 
injury. 


120   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

At  last,  when  their  mutual  labor  was  all  finished,  she 
took  Phoebe's  hand  in  her  own  trembling  one. 

"  Bear  with  me,  my  dear  child,"  she  cried ;  "  for  truly 
my  heart  is  full  to  the  brim  !  Bear  with  me ;  for  1  love 
you,  Phcebe,  though  I  speak  so  roughly !  Think  nothing 
of  it,  dearest  cliild  !  By  and  by,  I  shall  be  kiiid,  and  only 
kind ! " 

"  My  dearest  cousin,  cannot  you  tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  "  asked  Phoebe,  wd:h  a  sunny  and  tearful  syn^pa- 
thy.     "  What  is  it  that  moves  you  so  ?  " 

" Hush !  hush  !  He  is  coming!  "  whispered  Hepzibah, 
hastily  wipmg  her  eyes.  "Let  him  see  you  first,  Phoebe ; 
for  you  are  young  and  rosy,  and  cannot  help  letting  a 
smile  break  out,  whether  or  no.  He  always  liked  bright 
faces !  And  mine  is  old,  now,  and  the  tears  are  hardly 
dry  on  it.  He  never  could  abide  tears.  There;  draw 
the  curtain  a  little,  so  that  the  shadow  may  fall  across 
his  side  of  the  table !  But  let  there  be  a  good  deal  of 
sunshine,  too ;  for  he  never  was  fond  of  gloom,  as  some 
people  are.  He  has  had  but  httle  sunshine  in  his  life,  — 
poor  CliiFord,  —  and,  0,  what  a  black  shadow  !  Poor, 
poor  Cliiford ! " 

Thus  murmuring,  in  an  undertone,  as  if  speaking  rather 
to  her  own  heart  than  to  Phcebe,  the  old  gentlewoman 
stepped  on  tiptoe  about  the  room,  making  such  arrange- 
ments as  suggested  themselves  at  the  crisis. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  step  in  the  passage-way,  above 
stairs.  Phcebe  recognized  it  as  the  same  which  had 
passed  upward,  as  through  hei  dream,  in  the  night-time. 
The  approaching  guest,  whoever  it  might  be,  appeared 
to  pause  at  the  head  of  the  staircase;  he  paused  twice  or 
thrice  in  the  descent ;  he  paused  again  at  the  foot.  Each 
time,  the  delay  seemed  to  be  without  purpose,  but  rather 
fi'om  a  forgetfubiess  of  the  purpose  which  had  set  him  in 


THE    GUEST.  1^1 

motion,  or  as  if  the  person's  feet  came  involuntarily  to  a 
stand-still  because  the  motive-power  was  too  feeble  to 
sustain  his  progress.  Einally,  he  made  a  long  pause  at 
the  threshold  of  the  parlor.  He  took  hold  of  the  knob 
of  the  door ;  then  loosened  his  grasp,  without  opening  it. 
Hepzibah,  her  hands  convulsively  clasped,  stood  gazing 
at  the  entrance. 

"  Dear  Cousin  Hepzibah,  pray  don't  look  so  ! "  said 
Phoebe,  trembling;  for  her  cousin's  emotion,  and  this 
mysteriously  reluctant  step,  made  her  feel  as  if  a  ghost 
were  coming  into  the  room.  "  You  really  frighten  me  ! 
Is  something  awful  going  to  happen  ?  " 

"  Hush! "  whispered  Hepzibah.  "Be  cheerful !  what- 
ever may  happen,  be  nothing  but  cheerful !  " 

The  final  pause  at  the  threshold  proved  so  long,  that 
Hepzibah,  unable  to  endure  the  suspense,  rushed  forward, 
threw  open  the  door,  and  led  in  the  stranger  by  the 
hand.  At  the  first  glance,  Phoebe  saw  an  elderly  person- 
age, in  an  old-fashioned  dressing-gown  of  faded  damask, 
and  wearing  his  gray  or  almost  white  hair  of  an  unusual 
length.  It  quite  overshadowed  his  forehead,  except 
when  he  thrust  it  back,  and  stared  vaguely  about  the 
room.  After  a  very  brief  inspection  of  his  face,  it  was 
easy  to  conceive  that  his  footstep  must  necessarily  be 
such  an  one  as  that  which,  slowly,  and  with  as  indefinite 
an  aim  as  a  child's  first  journey  across  a  floor,  had  just 
brought  him  hitherward.  Yet  there  were  no  tokens  that 
his  physical  strength  might  not  have  sufiiced  for  a  free 
and  determined  gait.  It  was  the  spirit  of  the  man  that 
could  not  walk.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  — 
while,  notwithstanding,  it  had  the  light  of  reason  in  it  — 
seemed  to  waver,  and  glimmer,  and  nearly  to  die  away, 
and  feebly  to  recover  itself  again.  It  was  like  a  flame 
which  we  see  twinkling  among  half-extinguished  embers; 


122   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

yre  gaze  at  it  more  intently  than  if  it  ^rere  a  positive 
blaze,  gushing  vividly  upward,  —  more  intently,  but  with 
a  certain  impatience,  as  if  it  ought  either  to  kindle  itself 
into  satisfactory  splendor,  or  be  at  once  extinguished. 

For  an  instant  after  entering  the  room,  the  guest  stood 
still,  retaining  Hepzibah's  hand,  instinctively,  as  a  child 
does  that  of  the  groTvn  person  who  guides  it.  He  saw 
Phcebe,  however,  and  caught  an  illumination  from  her 
youthful  and  pleasant  aspect,  which,  indeed,  threw  a 
cheerfulness  about  the  parlor,  like  the  circle  of  reflected 
brilliancy  around  the  glass  vase  of  flowers  that  was 
standing  in  the  sunshine.  He  made  a  salutation,  or,  to 
speak  nearer  the  truth,  an  ill-defined,  abortive  attempt 
at  courtesy.  Imperfect  as  it  was,  however,  it  conveyed 
an  idea,  or,  at  least,  gave  a  hint,  of  indescribable  grace, 
such  as  no  practised  art  of  external  manners  could  have 
attained.  It  was  too  slight  to  seize  upon  at  the  instant ; 
yet,  as  recollected  afterwards,  seemed  to  transfigure  the 
whole  man. 

"  Dear  Clifford,"  said  Hepzibah,  in  the  tone  with  which 
one  soothes  a  wayward  infant,  "this  is  our  cousin  Phcebe, 
—  little  Phcebe  Pyncheon,  —  Arthur's  only  child,  you 
know.  She  has  come  from  the  country  to  stay  with  us 
awliile ;  for  our  old  house  has  grown  to  be  very  lonely 
now." 

"  Phoebe  ?  —  Phoebe  Pyncheon  ?  —  Phnebe  ?  "  repeated 
the  guest,  with  a  strange,  sluggish,  ill-defined  utterance. 
"Arthur's  child!  Ah,  I  forget!  No  matter!  She  is 
very  welcome  !  " 

"  Come,  dear  Cliff'ord,  take  this  chair,"  said  Hepzibah, 
leading  him  to  his  place.  "  Pray,  Phoebe,  lower  tlie  cur- 
tain a  very  little  more.     Now  let  us  begin  breakfast." 

Tlie  guest  seated  himself  in  the  place  assigned  him, 
and  looked  strangely  around.     TIj  was  evidently  trying 


THE    GUEST.  123 

to  grapple  with  the  present  scene,  and  bring  it  home 
to  his  mind  with  a  more  satisfactory  distinctness.  He 
desired  to  be  certain,  at  least,  that  he  was  here,  in  the 
low-studded,  cross-beamed,  oaken-paneUed  parlor,  and  not 
in  some  other  spot,  which  had  stereotyped  itself  into  his 
senses.  But  the  effort  was  too  great  to  be  sustained 
with  more  than  a  fragmentary  success.  Continually,  as 
we  may  express  it,  he  faded  away  out  of  his  place ;  or, 
in  other  words,  his  mind  and  consciousness  took  their 
departure,  leaving  his  wasted,  gray,  and  melancholy 
figure  —  a  substantial  emptiness,  a  material  ghost  —  to 
occupy  his  seat  at  table.  Again,  after  a  blank  moment, 
there  would  be  a  flickering  taper-gleam  in  his  eyeballs. 
It  betokened  that  his  spiritual  part  had  returned,  and 
was  doing  its  best  to  kindle  the  heart's  household  fire, 
and  light  up  intellectual  lamps  in  the  dark  and  ruinous 
mansion,  where  it  was  doomed  to  be  a  forlorn  inhabitant. 
At  one  of  these  moments,  of  less  torpid,  yet  still  im- 
perfect animation,  Phoebe  became  convinced  of  what  she 
had  at  first  rejected  as  too  extravagant  and  startling  an 
idea.  She  saw  that  the  person  before  her  must  have 
been  the  original  of  the  beautiful  miniature  in  her  cousin 
Hepzibah's  possession.  Indeed,  with  a  feminine  eye  for 
costume,  she  had  at  once  identified  the  damask  dressing- 
gown,  which  enveloped  him,  as  the  same  in  figure,  mate- 
rial, and  fashion,  with  that  so  elaborately  represented  in 
the  picture.  This  old,  faded  garment,  with  all  its  pris- 
tine brilhancy  extinct,  seemed,  in  some  indescribable 
way,  to  translate  the  shearer's  untold  misfortune,  and 
make  it  perceptible  to  the  beholder's  eye.  It  was  the 
better  to  be  discerned,  by  this  exterior  type,  how  worr^ 
and  old  were  the  soul's  more  immediate  garments  ;  that 
form  and  countenance,  the  beauty  and  grace  of  which 
had  almost  transcended  the  skill  of  the  most  exquisite  of 


12-i       THE    HOrSE    OF    THE    SEYEIT    GABLES. 

artists.  It  could  the  more  adequately  be  known  that 
the  soul  of  the  man  must  have  suJ'ered  some  miserable 
wrong,  fiom  its  earthly  experience.  There  he  seemed  to 
sit,  with  a  dim  veil  of  decay  and  ruin  betwixt  him  and 
the  world,  but  through  which,  at  flitting  iutervals,  might 
be  caught  the  same  expression,  so  refined,  so  softly  im- 
aginative, which  !Malbone  —  venturing  a  happy  touch, 
with  suspended  breath  —  had  imparted  to  the  miniature ! 
There  had  been  something  so  innately  characteristic  in 
this  look,  that  all  the  dusky  years,  and  the  burden  of 
unfit  calamity  which  had  fallen  upon  him,  did  not  suffice 
utterly  to  destroy  it. 

Hepzibah  had  now  poured  out  a  cup  of  deliciously  fra- 
grant cofi'ee,  and  presented  it  to  her  guest.  As  his  eyes 
met  hers,  he  seemed  bewildered  and  disquieted. 

"  Is  this  you,  Hepzibah  'r "  he  murmured,  sadly  ;  then, 
more  apart,,  and  perhaps  unconscious  that  he  was  over- 
heard, "  How  changed !  how  changed !  And  is  she 
angry  with  me  ?     TThy  does  she  bend  her  brow  so  r  '* 

Poor  Hepzibah  I  It  was  that  wretched  scowl,  which 
time  and  her  near-sightedness,  and  the  fret  of  inward 
discomfort,  had  rendered  so  habitual  that  any  vehemence 
of  mood  invariably  evoked  it.  But  at  the  indistinct  mur- 
mur of  his  words,  her  whole  face  grew  tender,  and  even 
lovely,  with  sorrowful  affection;  the  harshness  of  her 
features  disappeared,  as  it  were,  behind  the  warm  and 
misty  glow. 

"  Angry  I  "  she  repeated ;  "angry  with  you,  Clifford !  " 

Her  tone,  as  she  uttered  the  exclamation,  had  a  plain- 
^tive  and  really  exquisite  melody  thrilling  through  it,  yet 
without  subduing  a  certain  something  which  an  obtuse 
auditor  might  still  have  mistaken  for  asperity.  It  was  as 
if  some  transcendent  musician  should  draw  a  soul-thrilling 
sweetness  out  of  a  cracked  instnmient,  which  makes  iU 


THE    GUEST.  125 

physical  imperfection  heard  in  the  midst  of  ethereal  har- 
mony, —  so  deep  was  the  sensibility  that  found  an  organ 
in  Hepzibah's  voice ! 

"  There  is  nothing  but  love,  here,  Clifford,"  she  added, 
—  "  nothing  but  love  !     You  are  at  home  !  " 

The  guest  responded  to  her  tone  by  a  smile,  which  did 
not  half  light  up  his  face.  Eeeble  as  it  was,  however, 
and  gone  in  a  moment,  it  had  a  charm  of  wonderful 
beauty.  It  was  followed  by  a  coarser  expression;  or 
one  that  had  the  effect  of  coarseness  on  the  fine  mould 
and  outline  of  his  countenance,  because  there  was  nothing 
intellectual  to  temper  it.  It  was  a  look  of  appetite.  He 
ate  food  with  what  might  almost  be  termed  voracity ; 
and  seemed  to  forget  himself,  Hepzibah,  the  young  girl, 
and  everything  else  around  him,  in  the  sensual  enjoy- 
ment which  the  bountifully  spread  table  afforded.  In 
his  natural  system,  though  high-wrought  and  delicately 
refined,  a  sensibility  to  the  delights  of  the  palate  was 
probably  inherent.  It  would  have  been  kept  in  check, 
however,  and  even  converted  into  an  accomplishment, 
and  one  of  the  thousand  modes  of  intellectual  culture, 
had  his  more  ethereal  characteristics  retained  their  vigor. 
But  as  it  existed  now,  the  effect  was  painful,  and  made 
Phoebe  droop  her  eyes. 

In  a  little  while  the  guest  became  sensible  of  the  fra- 
grance of  the  yet  untasted  coffee.  He  quaffed  it  eagerly. 
The  subtle  essence  acted  on  him  like  a  charmed  draught, 
and  caused  the  opaque  substance  of  his  animal  being 
to  grow  transparent,  or,  at  least,  translucent ;  so  that  a 
spiritual  gleam  was  transmitted  through  it,  with  a  clearer 
lustre  than  hitherto. 

"  More,  more  !  "  he  cried,  with  nervous  haste  in  his 
utterance,  as  if  anxious  to  retain  his  grasp  of  what  sought 
to  escape  him.    "  This  is  what  I  need  !    Give  me  more  ! " 


126   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Under  this  delicate  and  powerful  influence,  lie  sat 
more  erect,  and  looked  out  from  his  eyes  with  a  glance 
that  took  note  of  what  it  rested  on.  It  was  not  so  much 
that  his  expression  grew  more  intellectual ;  this,  though 
it  had  its  share,  was  not  the  most  peculiar  effect.  Neither 
was  what  we  call  the  moral  nature  so  forcibly  awakened 
as  to  present  itself  in  remarkable  prominence.  But  a 
certain  fine  temper  of  being  was  now,  —  not  brought  out 
in  full  relief,  but  changeably  and  imperfectly  betrayed,  — 
of  which  it  was  the  function  to  deal  with  all  beautiful  and 
enjoyable  things.  In  a  character  where  it  should  exist 
as  the  chief  attribute,  it  would  bestow  on  its  possessor  an 
exquisite  taste,  and  an  enviable  susceptibility  of  happi- 
ness. Beauty  would  be  his  life  ;  his  aspirations  would 
all  tend  toward  it ;  and,  allowing  his  frame  and  pliysical 
organs  to  be  in  consonance,  his  own  developments  would 
likewise  be  beautiful.  Such  a  man  should  have  nothing 
to  do  with  sorrow ;  nothing  with  strife ;  nothing  with 
the  martyrdom  which,  in  an  infinite  variety  of  shapes, 
awaits  those  who  have  the  heart,  and  will,  and  conscience, 
to  fight  a  battle  with  the  world.  To  these  heroic  tempers, 
such  martyrdom  is  the  richest  meed  in  the  world's  gift. 
To  the  individual  before  us,  it  could  only  be  a  grief,  in- 
tense in  due  proportion  with  the  severity  of  the  infliction. 
He  had  no  right  to  be  a  martyr ;  and,  beholding  him  so 
fit  to  be  happy,  and  so  feeble  for  all  other  purposes,  a 
generous,  strong,  and  noble  spirit  would,  methinks,  have 
been  ready  to  sacrifice  what  little  enjoyment  it  might  have 
planned  for  itself,  —  it  would  have  flung  down  the  hopes, 
so  paltry  in  its  regard,  —  if  thereby  the  wintry  blasts  of 
our  rude  sphere  might  come  tempered  to  such  a  man. 

Not  to  speak  it  harshly  or  scornfully,  it  seemed  Clif- 
ford's nature  to  be  a  Sybarite.  It  was  perceptible,  even 
there,  in  the  dark  old  parlor,  in  the  inevitable  polarity 


THE    GUEST.  127 

with  whicli  his  eyes  were  attracted  towards  the  quivering 
play  of  sunbeams  through  the  shadowy  foliage.  It  was 
seen  in  his  appreciating  notice  of  the  vase  of  flowers,  the 
scent  of  which  he  inhaled  with  a  zest  almost  peculiar  to 
a  physical  organization  so  refined  that  spiritual  ingredi- 
ents are  moulded  in  with  it.  It  was  betrayed  in  the  un- 
conscious smile  with  which  he  regarded  Phoebe,  whose 
fresh  and  maidenly  figure  was  both  sunshine  and  flowers, 
—  their  essence,  in  a  prettier  and  more  agreeable  mode 
of  manifestation.  Not  less  evident  was  this  love  and 
necessity  for  the  Beautiful,  in  the  instinctive  caution 
with  which,  even  so  soon,  his  eyes  turned  away  from  his 
hostess,  and  wandered  to  any  quarter  rather  than  come 
back.  It  was  Hepzibah's  misfortune,  —  not  Clifford's 
fault.  How  could  he,  —  so  yellow  as  she  was,  so  wrin- 
kled, so  sad  of  mien,  with  that  odd  uncouthness  of  a  tur- 
ban on  h3r  head,  and  that  most  perverse  of  scowls  contort- 
ing her  brow,  —  how  could  he  love  to  gaze  at  her  ?  But, 
did  he  owe  her  no  affection  for  so  much  as  she  had  silently 
given  ?  He  owed  her  nothing.  A  nature  hke  Clifford's 
can  contract  no  debts  of  that  kind.  It  is — we  say  it 
without  censure,  nor  in  diminution  of  the  claim  which 
it  indefeasibly  possesses  on  beings  of  another  mould  —  it 
is  always  selfish  in  its  essence  ;  and  we  must  give  it  leave 
to  be  so,  and  heap  up  our  heroic  and  disinterested  love 
upon  it  so  much  the  more,  without  a  recompense.  Poor 
Hepzibah  knew  this  truth,  or,  at  least,  acted  on  the  in- 
stinct of  it.  So  long  estranged  from  what  was  lovely,  as 
Clifford  had  been,  she  rejoiced, — rejoiced,  though  with 
a  present  sigh,  and  a  secret  purpose  to  shed  tears  in  her 
own  chamber,  — that  he  had  brighter  objects  now  before 
his  eyes  than  her  aged  and  uncomely  features.  They 
never  possessed  a  charm ;  and  if  they  had,  the  canker  of 
her  grief  for  him  would  long  since  have  destroyed  it. 


128   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

The  guest  leaned  back  iii  liis  cliair.  ISIingled  in  his 
countenance  with  a  dreamy  delight,  there  was  a  troubled 
look  of  effort  and  unrest.  He  was  seeking  to  make  him- 
self more  fully  sensible  of  the  scene  around  him  ;  or,  per- 
haps, dreading  it  to  be  a  dream,  or  a  play  of  imagination, 
was  vexing  the  fair  moment  with  a  struggle  for  some 
added  brilliancy  and  more  durable  illusion. 

"How  pleasant! — How  delightful!"  he  munnured, 
but  not  as  if  addressing  any  one.  "  Will  it  last  ?  How 
balmy  the  atmosphere,  through  that  )pen  window  !  An 
open  window !  How  beautiful  that  play  of  sunshine  I 
Those  flowers,  how  very  fragrant !  That  young  girl's 
face,  how  cheerful,  how  blooming !  —  a  flower  with  the 
dew  on  it,  and  sunbeams  in  the  dew-drops  !  Ah !  this 
must  be  all  a  dream !  A  dream  !  A  dream !  But  it 
has  quite  hidden  the  four  stone  walls ! " 

Then  his  face  darkened,  as  if  the  shadow  of  a  cavern 
or  a  dungeon  had  come  over  it ;  there  was  no  more  hght 
in  its  expression  than  might  have  come  through  the  iron 
grates  of  a  prison  window,  —  still  lessening,  too,  as  if  he 
were  sinking  farther  mto  the  depths.  Phoebe  (being  of 
that  quickness  and  activity  of  temperament  that  she  sel- 
dom long  reframed  from  takmg  a  part,  and  generally  a 
good  one,  in  what  was  going  forward)  now  felt  herself 
moved  to  address  the  stranger. 

"  Here  is  a  new  kind  of  rose,  which  I  found  this  morn- 
ing in  the  garden,"  said  she,  choosing  a  small  crimson  one 
from  among  the  flowers  in  the  vase.  "  There  will  be  but 
five  or  six  on  the  bush,  this  season.  This  is  the  most  per- 
fect of  them  all ;  not  a  speck  of  bhght  or  mildew  in  it. 
And  how  sweet  it  is !  —  sweet  like  no  other  rose  !  One 
can  never  forget  that  scent !  " 

"Ah!  —  let  me  see!  —  let  me  hold  it!"  cried  the 
guest,  eagerly  seizing  the  flower,  which,  by  the  spell  pe- 


THE    GUEST.  129 

culiar  to  remembered  odors,  brought  innumerable  associ- 
ations along  with  the  fragrance  that  it  exhaled.  "  Thann 
you !  This  has  done  me  good.  I  remember  how  I  used 
to  prize  this  flower,  —  long  ago,  I  suppose,  very  long 
ago!  —  or  was  it  only  yesterday?  It  makes  me  feel 
young  again !  Am  I  young  ?  Either  this  remembrance 
is  singularly  distinct,  or  this  consciousness  strangely  dim ! 
But  how  kind  of  the  fair  young  girl !  Thank  you !  Thank 
you ! " 

The  favorable  excitement  derived  from  this  little  crim- 
son rose  afforded  Clifford  the  brightest  moment  which  he 
enjoyed  at  the  breakfast-table.  It  might  have  lasted 
longer,  but  that  his  eyes  happened,  soon  afterwards,  to 
rest  on  the  face  of  the  old  Puritan,  who,  out  of  his  dingy 
frame  and  lustreless  canvas,  was  looking  down  on  the 
scene  like  a  ghost,  and  a  most  ill-tempered  and  ungenial 
one.  The  guest  made  an  impatient  gesture  of  the  hand, 
and  addressed  Hepzibah  with  what  might  easily  be  recog- 
nized as  the  licensed  irritability  of  a  petted  member  of 
the  family. 

"  Hepzibah  !  —  Hepzibah  !  "  cried  he,  with  no  little 
force  and  distinctness,  "why  do  you  keep  that  odious 
picture  on  the  wall  ?  Yes,  yes  !  —  that  is  precisely  your 
taste !  I  have  told  you,  a  thousand  times,  that  it  was 
the  evil  genius  of  the  house  !  —  my  evil  genius  particu- 
larly !     Take  it  down,  at  once  !  " 

"Dear  Clifford,"  said  Hepzibah,  sadly,  "you  know  it 
cannot  be  ! " 

"  Then,  at  all  events,"  continued  he,  still  speaking  with 
some  energy,  "  pray  cover  it  with  a  crimson  curtain,  broad 
enough  to  hang  in  folds,  and  with  a  golden  border  and 
tassels,  I  cannot  bear  it !  It  must  not  stare  me  in  the 
face ! " 

"Yes,  dear  Chfford,  the  picture  shall  be  covered,"  said 


130   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Hepzibah,  soothingly.  "  There  is  a  crimson  curtain  in  a 
trunk  above  stairs,  —  a  little  faded  and  moth-eaten,  I  'm 
afraid,  —  but  Phoebe  and  I  will  do  wonders  with  it." 

"  This  very  day,  remember !  "  said  he ;  and  then  added, 
in  a  low,  self-communing  voice,  "  Why  should  we  live 
in  this  dismal  house  at  all  ?  Why  not  go  to  tlie  South  of 
France?  —  to  Italy?  —  Paris,  Naples,  Venice,  Rome? 
Hepzibah  will  say  we  have  not  the  means.  A  droll  idea 
that ! " 

He  smiled  to  himself,  and  threw  a  glance  of  fine  sar^ 
castic  meaning  towards  Hepzibah. 

But  the  several  moods  of  feeling,  faintly  as  they  were 
marked,  through  which  he  had  passed,  occurring  in  so 
brief  an  interval  of  time,  liad  evidently  wearied  the  stran- 
ger. He  was  probably  accustomed  to  a  sad  monotony  of 
life,  not  so  much  flowing  in  a  stream,  however  sluggish, 
as  stagnating  in  a  pool  around  his  feet.  A  slumberous 
veil  diffused  itself  over  his  countenance,  and  had  an  effect, 
morally  speaking,  on  its  naturally  delicate  and  elegant 
outline,  like  that  which  a  brooding  mist,  with  no  sunshine 
in  it,  throws  over  the  features  of  a  landscape.  He  ap- 
peared to  become  grosser,  —  almost  cloddish.  If  aught 
of  interest  or  beauty  —  even  ruined  beauty  —  had  here- 
tofore been  visible  in  this  man,  the  beholder  might  now 
begin  to  doubt  it,  and  to  accuse  his  own  imagination  of 
deluding  him  with  whatever  grace  had  flickered  over  that 
visage,  and  whatever  exquisite  lustre  had  gleamed  in 
those  fihny  eyes. 

Before  he  had  quite  sunken  away,  however,  the  sharp 
and  peevish  tinkle  of  the  shop-bell  made  itself  audible. 
Striking  most  disagreeably  on  Cliff'ord's  auditory  organs 
and  the  characteristic  sensibility  of  his  nerves,  it  caused 
him  to  start  upright  out  of  his  chair. 

"  Good  heavens,  Hepzibah !  what  horrible  disturbance 


THE    GUEST.  131 

have  we  now  in  the  house  ?  "  cried  he,  wreaking  his  re- 
sentful impatience  —  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  a  custom 
of  old  —  on  the  one  person  in  the  w^orld  that  loved  him. 
"  I  have  never  heard  such  a  hateful  clamor !  Why  do 
you  permit  it  ?  In  the  name  of  aU  dissonance,  what  can 
it  be  ? " 

It  was  very  remarkable  into  what  prominent  reHef  — 
even  as  if  a  dim  picture  should  leap  suddenly  from  its 
canvas  —  Clifford's  character  was  thrown,  by  this  appar- 
ently trifling  annoyance.  The  secret  was,  that  an  indi- 
vidual of  his  temper  can  always  be  pricked  more  acutely 
through  his  sense  of  the  beautiful  and  harmonious  than 
through  his  heart.  It  is  even  possible  —  for  similar  cases 
have  often  happened  —  that  if  Clifford,  in  his  foregoing 
life,  had  enjoyed  the  means  of  cultivating  his  taste  to  its 
utmost  perfectibility,  that  subtile  attribute  might,  before 
this  period,  have  completely  eaten  out  or  filed  away  his 
affections.  Shall  we  venture  to  pronounce,  therefore, 
that  his  long  and  black  calamity  may  not  have  had  a  re- 
deeming drop  of  mercy  at  the  bottom  ? 

"  Dear  Clifford,  I  wish  I  could  keep  the  sound  from 
your  ears,"  said  Hepzibah,  patiently,  but  reddening  with 
a  painful  suffusion  of  shame.  "  It  is  very  disagreable 
even  to  me.  But,  do  you  know,  Clifford,  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you  ?  This  ugly  noise,  —  pray  run,  Phoebe, 
and  see  who  is  there  !  —  this  naughty  little  tmkle,  is  noth- 
ing but  our  shop-bell !  " 

"  Shop-bell ! "  repeated  Clifford,  with  a  bewildered 
stare. 

"  Yes,  our  shop-bell,"  said  Hepzibah,  a  certain  natural 
dignity,  mingled  with  deep  emotion,  now  asserting  itself 
in  her  manner.  "  Eor  you  must  know,  dearest  Clifford, 
that  we  are  very  poor.  And  there  was  no  other  resource, 
but  either  to  accept  assistance  from  a  hand  that  I  would 


132   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

push  aside  (and  so  would  you !)  were  it  to  offer  bread 
when  we  were  dying  for  it,  —  no  help,  save  from  him,  or 
else  to  earn  our  subsistence  with  my  own  hands  !  Alone, 
I  might  have  been  content  to  starve.  But  you  were  to 
be  given  back  to  me  !  Do  you  think,  then,  dear  Clifford," 
added  she,  with  a  wretched  smile,  "  that  I  have  brought 
an  irretrievable  disgrace  on  the  old  house,  by  opening  a 
little  shop  in  the  front  gable  ?  Our  great-great-grand- 
father did  the  same,  when  there  was  far  less  need  !  Are 
you  ashamed  of  me  ?  " 

"  Shame  !  Disgrace  !  Do  you  speak  these  words  to 
me,  Hepzibah  ?  "  said  Chfford,  —  not  angrily,  however ; 
for  when  a  man's  spirit  has  been  thoroughly  crushed,  he 
may  be  peevish  at  small  offences,  but  never  resentful  of 
great  ones.  So  he  spoke  with  only  a  grieved  emotion. 
"It  was  not  kmd  to  say  so,  Hepzibah!  What  shame 
can  befall  me  now  ?  " 

And  then  the  unnerved  man  —  he  that  had  been  born 
for  enjoyment,  but  had  met  a  doom  so  very  wretched  — 
burst  into  a  woman's  passion  of  tears.  It  was  but  of 
brief  continuance,  however ;  soon  leavmg  him  in  a  qui- 
escent, and,  to  judge  by  his  countenance,  not  an  uncom- 
fortable state.  From  this  mood,  too,  he  partially  raUied, 
for  an  instant,  and  looked  at  Hepzibah  with  a  smile, 
the  keen,  half-derisory  purport  of  which  was  a  puzzle  to 
her. 

"  Are  we  so  very  poor,  Hepzibah  ?  "  said  he. 

Finally,  his  chair  being  deep  and  softly  cushioned,  Clif- 
ford fell  asleep.  Hearing  the  more  regular  rise  and  fall 
of  his  breath  (which,  however,  even  then,  instead  of 
being  strong  and  full,  had  a  feeble  kind  of  tremor,  corre- 
sponding with  the  lack  of  vigor  in  his  character),  —  hear- 
ing these  tokens  of  settled  slumber,  Hepzibah  seized  the 
opportunity  to  peruse  his  face  more  attentively  than  she 


THE    GUEST.  133 

had  yet  dared  to  do.  Her  heart  melted  away  in  tears ; 
her  profoundest  spirit  sent  forth  a  moaning  voice,  low, 
gentle,  but  inexpressibly  sad.  In  this  depth  of  grief  and 
pity,  she  felt  that  there  was  no  irreverence  in  gazing  at 
his  altered,  aged,  faded,  ruined  face.  But  no  sooner  was 
she  a  little  relieved  than  her  conscience  smote  her  for 
gazmg  curiously  at  him,  now  that  he  was  so  changed ; 
and,  turning  hastily  away,  Hepzibah  let  down  the  cur- 
tain over  the  sunny  wmdow,  and  left  Clifford  to  slumber 
there. 


YIII. 


THE  PYNCHEON  OF  TO-DAY. 


HCEBE,  on  entering  the  shop,  beheld  there  the 
ah'eadj  familiar  face  of  the  little  devourer  —  if 
vre  can  reckon  his  mighty  deeds  aright  —  of 
Jim  Crow,  the  elephant,  the  camel,  the  dromedaries,  and 
the  locomotive.  Havmg  expended  his  private  fortune, 
on  the  two  preceding  days,  in  the  purchase  of  the  above 
unheard-of  luxuries,  the  young  gentleman's  present  er- 
rand was  on  the  part  of  his  mother,  in  quest  of  three 
eggs  and  half  a  pound  of  raisins.  These  articles  Phoebe 
accordingly  supplied,  and,  as  a  mark  of  gratitude  for  his 
previous  patronage,  and  a  slight  superadded  morsel  after 
breakfast,  put  likewise  into  his  hand  a  whale !  The 
great  fish,  reversing  his  experience  with  the  prophet  of 
Kineveh,  immediately  began  his  progress  down  the  same 
red  pathway  of  fate  whither  so  varied  a  caravan  had  pre- 
ceded him.  This  remarkable  urchin,  in  truth,  was  the 
very  emblem  of  old  Father  Time,  both  in  respect  of  his 
all-devouring  appetite  for  men  and  things,  and  because 
he,  as  well  as  Time,  after  ingulfing  thus  much  of  crea- 
tion, looked  almost  as  youthful  as  if  he  had  been  just 
that  moment  made. 

After  partly  closing  the  door,  the  child  turned  back. 


THE    PYNCHEON   OF   TO-DAY.  135 

and  mumbled  something  to  Phoebe,  which,  as  the  whale 
was  but  half  disposed  of,  she  could  not  perfectly  under- 
stand. 

"  What  did  you  say,  my  little  fellow  ?  "  asked  she. 

"Mother  wants  to  know,"  repeated  Ned  Higgins, 
more  distinctly,  "how  Old  Maid  Pyncheon's  brother 
does?     Folks  say  he  has  got  home." 

"  My  cousin  Hepzibah's  brother  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe, 
surprised  at  this  sudden  explanation  of  the  relationship 
between  Hepzibah  and  her  guest.  "  Her  brother !  And 
where  can  he  have  been  ?  " 

The  little  boy  only  put  his  thumb  to  his  broad  snub- 
nose,  with  that  look  of  shrewdness  which  a  child,  spend- 
ing much  of  his  time  in  the  street,  so  soon  learns  to 
throw  over  his  features,  however  unintelligent  in  them- 
selves. Then  as  Phoebe  continued  to  gaze  at  him,  with- 
out answering  his  mother's  message,  he  took  his  de- 
parture. 

As  the  child  went  down  the  steps,  a  gentleman  as- 
cended them,  and  made  his  entrance  into  the  shop.  It 
was  the  portly,  and,  had  it  possessed  the  advantage  of  a 
little  more  height,  would  have  been  the  stately  figure  of 
a  man  considerably  in  the  decline  of  life,  dressed  in  a 
black  suit  of  some  thin  stuff,  resembling  broadcloth  as 
closely  as  possible.  A  gold-headed  cane,  of  rare  Oriental 
wood,  added  materially  to  the  high  respectability  of  his 
aspect,  as  did  also  a  white  neckcloth  of  the  utmost 
snowy  purity,  and  the  conscientious  polish  of  his  boots. 
His  dark,  square  countenance,  with  its  almost  shaggy 
depth  of  eyebrows,  was  naturally  impressive,  and  would, 
perhaps,  have  been  rather  stern,  had  not  the  gentleman 
considerately  taken  upon  himself  to  mitigate  the  harsh 
effect  by  a  look  of  exceeding  good-humor  and  benevo- 
lence.    Owing,  however,  to  a  somewhat  massive  accu- 


136   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

mulatioii  of  animal  substance  about  the  lower  region  of 
his  face,  the  look  was,  perhaps,  unctuous,  rather  than 
spiritual,  and  had,  so  to  speak,  a  kind  of  fleshly  efful- 
gence, not  altogether  so  satisfactory  as  he  doubtless  in- 
tended it  to  be.  A  susceptible  observer,  at  any  rate, 
ruight  have  regarded  it  as  affording  very  little  evidence 
of  the  genume  benignity  of  soul  whereof  it  purported  to 
be  the  outward  reflection.  And  if  the  observer  chanced 
to  be  ill-natured,  as  well  as  acute  and  susceptible,  he 
would  probably  suspect  that  the  smile  on  the  gentleman's 
face  was  a  good  deal  akin  to  the  shine  on  his  boots,  and 
that  each  must  have  cost  him  and  his  boot-black,  respec- 
tively, a  good  deal  of  hard  labor  to  bring  out  and  preserve 
them. 

As  the  stranger  entered  the  little  shop,  where  the  pro- 
jection of  the  second  story  and  the  thick  foliage  of  the 
elm-tree,  as  well  as  the  commodities  at  the  window,  cre- 
ated a  sort  of  gray  medium,  his  smile  grew  as  intense  as 
if  he  had  set  his  heart  on  counteracting  the  whole  gloom 
of  the  atmosphere  (besides  any  moral  gloom  pertaining 
to  Hepzibah  and  her  inmates)  by  the  unassisted  light  of 
his  countenance.  On  perceiving  a  young  rosebud  of  a 
girl,  instead  of  the  gaunt  presence  of  the  old  maid,  a 
look  of  surprise  was  manifest.  He  at  first  knit  his 
brows ;  then  smiled  with  more  unctuous  benignity  than 
ever. 

"  Ah,  I  see  how  it  is  !  "  said  he,  in  a  deep  voice,  —  a 
voice  which,  had  it  come  from  the  throat  of  an  unculti- 
vated man,  would  have  been  gruff,  but,  by  dint  of  careful 
training,  was  now  sufficiently  agreeable,  —  "I  was  not 
aware  that  Miss  Hepzibah  Pyncheon  had  commenced 
business  under  such  favorable  auspices.  You  are  her 
assistant,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  am,"  answered  Phoebe,  and  added,  with 


THE    PYNCHEON   OF   TO-DAY.  137 

a  little  air  of  lady -like  assumption  (for,  civil  as  the  gentle- 
man was,  he  evidently  took  her  to  be  a  young  person 
serving  for  wages),  "I  am  a  cousin  of  Miss  Hepzibah, 
on  a  visit  to  her." 

"Her  cousin?  —  and  from  the  country?  Pray  par- 
don m©,  then,"  said  the  gentleman,  bowing  and  smiling, 
as  Phoebe  never  had  been  bowed  to  nor  smiled  on  before ; 
"  in  that  case,  we  must  be  better  acquainted  ;  for,  unless 
I  am  sadly  mistaken,  you  are  my  own  little  kmswoman 
likewise  !  Let  me  see,  —  Mary  ?  —  Dolly  ?  —  Phoebe  ? 
—  yes,  Phoebe  is  the  name  !  Is  it  possible  that  you  are 
Phoebe  Pyncheon,  only  child  of  my  dear  cousin  and  class- 
mate, Arthur  ?  Ah,  I  see  your  father  now,  about  your 
mouth  !  Yes,  yes !  we  must  be  better  acquainted !  I 
am  your  kinsman,  my  dear.  Surely  you  must  have 
heard  of  Judge  Pyncheon  ?  " 

As  Phoebe  courtesied  in  reply,  the  Judge  bent  forward, 
with  the  pardonable  and  even  praiseworthy  purpose  — 
considering  the  nearness  of  blood,  and  the  difference  of 
age  —  of  bestowing  on  his  young  relative  a  kiss  of  ac- 
knowledged kindred  and  natural  affection.  Unfortunately 
(without  design,  or  only  with  such  instinctive  design  as 
gives  no  account  of  itself  to  the  intellect),  Phoebe,  just 
at  the  critical  moment,  drew  back ;  so  that  her  highly 
respectable  kmsman,  with  his  body  bent  over  the  counter, 
and  his  lips  protruded,  was  betrayed  into  the  rather 
absurd  predicament  of  kissing  the  empty  air.  It  was  a 
modern  parallel  to  the  case  of  Ixion  embracing  a  cloud, 
and  was  so  much  the  more  ridiculous,  as  the  Judge  prided 
himself  on  eschewing  all  airy  matter,  and  never  mistak- 
ing a  shadow  for  a  substance.  The  truth  was,  —  and  it 
is  Phoebe's  only  excuse,  —  that,  although  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon's  glowing  benignity  might  not  be  absolutely  un- 
pleasant to  the  feminine  beholder,  with  the  width  of  a 


138   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

street,  or  even  an  ordinary-sized  room,  interposed  be- 
tween, yet  it  became  quite  too  intense,  when  this  dark, 
fall-fed  physiognomy  (so  roughly  bearded,  too,  that  no 
razor  could  ever  make  it  smooth)  sought  to  bring  itself 
into  actual  contact  with  the  object  of  its  regards.  The 
man,  the  sex,  somehow  or  other,  was  entirely  too  promi- 
nent in  the  Judge's  demonstrations  of  that  sort.  Phoebe's 
eyes  sank,  and,  without  knowing  why,  she  felt  herself 
blushing  deeply  under  his  look.  Yet  she  had  been  kissed 
before,  and  without  any  particular  squeamishness,  by  per- 
haps half  a  dozen  different  cousins,  younger  as  well  as 
older,  than  this  dark-browed,  grisly-bearded,  wb'te-neck- 
clothed,  and  unctuously -bsnevolent  Judge  !  Then,  why 
not  by  him  ? 

On  raising  her  eyes,  Phcebe  was  startled  by  the  change 
in  Judge  Pyncheon's  face.  It  was  quite  as  striking, 
allowing  for  the  diilerence  of  scale,  as  that  betwixt  a 
landscape  under  a  broad  sunshine  and  just  before  a 
thunder-storm ;  not  that  it  had  the  passionate  intensity 
of  the  latter  aspect,  but  was  cold,  hard,  immitigable,  like 
a  day-long  brooding  cloud. 

"bear  me!  what  is  to  be  done  now?"  thought  the 
country-girl  to  herself.  "He  looks  as  if  there  were 
nothing  softer  in  him  than  a  rock,  nor  milder  than  the 
east  wind !  I  meant  no  harm !  Since  he  is  really  my 
cousin,  I  would  have  let  liim  kiss  me,  if  I  could ! " 

Then,  all  at  once,  it  struck  Phoebe  that  this  very  Judge 
Pyncheon  was  the  original  of  the  miniature  which  the 
daguerreotypist  had  shown  her  in  the  garden,  and  that  the 
hard,  stern,  relentless  look,  now  on  his  face,  was  the  same 
that  the  sun  had  so  inflexibly  persisted  in  bringing  out. 
Was  it,  therefore,  no  momentary  mood,  but,  however  skil- 
fully concealed,  the  settled  temper  of  his  life  ?  And  not 
merely  so,  but  was  it  hereditary  in  him,  and  transmitted 


THE    PYNCHEON    OF    TO-DAY.  139 

down,  as  a  precious  heirloom,  from  that  bearded  ancestor, 
in  whose  picture  both  the  expression,  and,  to  a  singular 
degree,  the  features  of  the  modern  Judge  were  shown 
as  by  a  kind  of  prophecy  ?  A  deeper  philosopher  than 
Phoebe  might  have  found  something  very  terrible  in  this 
idea.  It  implied  that  the  weaknesses  and  defects,  the 
bad  passions,  the  mean  tendencies,  and  the  moral  diseases, 
which  lead  to  crime,  are  handed  down  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another,  by  a  far  surer  process  of  transmission 
than  human  law  has  been  able  to  establish,  in  respect 
to  the  riches  and  honors  which  it  seeks  to  entail  upon 
posterity. 

But,  as  it  happened,  scarcely  had  Phoebe's  eyes  rested 
again  on  the  Judge's  countenance,  than  all  its  ugly  stern- 
ness vanished ;  and  she  found  herself  quite  overpowered 
by  the  sultry,  dog-day  heat,  as  it  were,  of  benevolence, 
which  tliis  excellent  man  diffused  out  of  his  great  heart 
into  the  surrounding  atmosphere ;  —  very  much  like  a 
serpent,  which,  as  a  preliminary  to  fascination,  is  said  to 
fill  the  air  with  his  pecuHar  odor. 

"I  like  that.  Cousin  Phoebe !  "  cried  he,  with  an  em- 
phatic nod  of  approbation.  "  I  like  it  much,  my  little 
cousin !  You  are  a  good  child,  and  know  how  to  take 
care  of  yourself.  A  young  girl  —  especially  if  she  be  a 
very  pretty  one  — can  never  be  too  chary  of  her  lips." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  Phoebe,  trying  to  laugh  the  matter 
off,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind." 

Nevertheless,  whether  or  no  it  were  entirely  owing  to 
the  inauspicious  commencement  of  their  acquaintance, 
she  still  acted  under  a  certain  reserve,  which  was  by  no 
means  customary  to  her  frank  and  genial  nature.  The 
fantasy  would  not  quit  her,  that  the  original  Puritan,  of 
whom  she  had  heard  so  many  sombre  traditions,  —  the 
progenitor  of  the  whole  race  of  New  England  Pyncheons, 


140   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  founder  of  the  House  of  the  Seveu  Gables,  and  whe 
had  died  so  strangely  in  it,  —  had  now  stept  into  the 
shop.  In  these  days  of  off-hand  equipment,  the  matter 
was  easily  enough  arranged.  On  his  arrival  from  the 
other  world,  he  had  merely  found  it  necessary  to  spend  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  at  a  barber's,  who  had  trimmed  doMii 
the  Puritan's  full  beard  into  a  pair  of  grizzled  whiskers ; 
then,  patronizing  a  ready-made  clothmg  establishment, 
he  had  exchanged  his  velvet  doublet  and  sable  cloak,  with 
the  richly  worked  band  under  his  chin,  for  a  white  collar 
and  cravat,  coat,  vest,  and  pantaloons;  and  lastly,  putting 
aside  his  steel-hilted  broadsword  to  take  up  a  gold-headed 
cane,  the  Colonel  Pyncheon,  of  two  centuries  ago,  steps 
forward  as  the  Judge,  of  the  passing  moment ! 

Of  course,  Phoebe  was  far  too  sensible  a  girl  to  en- 
tertain this  idea  in  any  other  way  than  as  matter  for  a 
smile.  Possibly,  also,  could  the  two  personages  have 
stood  together  before  her  eye,  many  points  of  difference 
would  have  been  perceptible,  and  perhaps  only  a  general 
resemblance.  The  long  lapse  of  intervening  years,  in  a 
climate  so  unlike  that  which  had  fostered  the  ancestral 
Englishman,  must  inevitably  have  wrought  important 
changes  in  the  physical  system  of  his  descendant.  The 
Judge's  volume  of  muscle  could  hardly  be  the  same  as 
the  Colonel's ;  there  was  undoubtedly  less  beef  in  him. 
Though  looked  upon  as  a  weighty  man,  among  his 
contemporaries,  in  respect  of  animal  substance,  and  as 
favored  with  a  remarkable  degree  of  fundamental  devel- 
opment, well  adapting  him  for  the  judicial  bench,  we 
conceive  that  the  modern  Judge  Pyncheon,  if  weighed  in 
the  same  balance  with  his  ancestor,  would  have  required 
at  least  an  old-fashioned  fifty-six  to  keep  the  scale  in 
equilibrio.  Then  the  Judge's  face  had  lost  the  ruddy 
Enghsh  hue,  that  showed  its  warmth  through  all  the 


THE    PYNCHEON    OP    TO-DAY.  141 

duskiness  of  tlie  Colonel's  weather-beaten  clieek,  and  had 
taken  a  sallow  shade,  the  established  complexion  of  his 
countrymen.  If  we  mistake  not,  moreover,  a  certain 
quality  of  nervousness  had  become  more  or  less  manifest, 
even  in  so  sohd  a  specimen  of  Puritan  descent  as  the 
gentleman  now  under  discussion.  As  one  of  its  effects^ 
it  bestowed  on  his  countenance  a  quicker  mobiUty  than 
the  old  Englishman's  had  possessed,  and  keener  vivacity, 
but  at  the  expense  of  a  sturdier  something,  on  which 
these  acute  endowments  seemed  to  act  like  dissolving 
acids.  This  process,  for  aught  we  know,  may  belong  to 
the  great  system  of  human  progress,  which,  vidth  every 
ascending  footstep,  as  it  diminishes  the  necessity  for  ani- 
mal force,  may  be  destined  gradually  to  spiritualize  us, 
by  refining  away  our  grosser  attributes  of  body.  If  so. 
Judge  Pyncheon  could  endure  a  century  or  two  more  of 
such  refinement,  as  well  as  most  other  men. 

The  similarity,  intellectual  and  moral,  between  the 
Judge  and  his  ancestor  appears  to  have  been  at  least 
as  strong  as  the  resemblance  of  mien  and  feature  would 
afford  reason  to  anticipate.  In  old  Colonel  Pyncheon's 
funeral  discourse,  the  clergyman  absolutely  canonized  his 
deceased  parishioner,  and  opening,  as  it  were,  a  vista 
through  the  roof  of  the  church,  and  thence  through  the 
firmament  above,  showed  him  seated,  harp  in  hand, 
among  the  crowned  choristers  of  the  spiritual  world. 
On  his  tombstone,  too,  the  record  is  highly  eulogistic ; 
nor  does  history,  so  far  as  he  holds  a  place  upon  its 
page,  assail  the  consistency  and  uprightness  of  his  char- 
acter. So  also,  as  regards  the  Judge  Pyncheon  of  to-day, 
neither  clergyman,  nor  legal  critic,  nor  inscriber  of  tomb- 
stones, nor  historian  of  general  or  local  politics,  would 
venture  a  word  against  this  eminent  person's  sincerity 
as  a  Christian,  or  respectability  as  a  man,  or  integrity  as 


142   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

a  judge,  or  courage  and  faithfulness  as  the  often-triefll 
representative  of  his  political  party.  But,  besides  these 
cold,  formal,  and  empty  words  of  the  chisel  that  inscribes, 
the  voice  that  speaks,  and  the  pen  that  writes,  for  the 
public  eye  and  for  distant  time,  —  and  which  inevitably 
lose  much  of  their  truth  and  freedom  by  the  fatal  con- 
sciousness of  so  doing,  —  there  were  traditions  about  the 
ancestor,  and  private  diurnal  gossip  about  the  Judge, 
remarkably  accordant  in  their  testimony.  It  is  often 
instructive  to  take  the  woman's,  the  private  and  domestic, 
view  of  a  public  man  ;  nor  can  anything  be  more  curious 
than  the  vast  discrepancy  between  portraits  intended  for 
engraving,  and  the  pencil-sketches  that  pass  from  hand 
to  hand,  behind  the  original's  back. 

For  example,  tradition  affirmed  that  the  Puritan  had 
been  greedy  of  wealth  ;  the  Judge,  too,  with  all  the  show 
of  liberal  expenditure,  was  said  to  be  as  close-fisted  as  if 
his  gripe  were  of  iron.  The  ancestor  had  clothed  him- 
self in  a  grim  assumption  of  kindliness,  a  rough  heartiness 
of  word  and  manner,  which  most  people  took  to  be  the 
genuine  warmth  of  nature,  making  its  way  through  the 
thick  and  inflexible  hide  of  a  manly  character.  His  de- 
scendant, in  compliance  with  the  requirements  of  a  nicer 
age,  had  etherealized  this  rude  benevolence  into  that 
broad  benignity  of  smile,  wherewith  he  shone  like  a  noon- 
day sun  along  the  streets,  or  glowed  like  a  household  fire 
in  the  drawing-rooms  of  his  private  acquaintance.  The 
Puritan  —  if  not  belied  by  some  singular  stories,  mur- 
mured, even  at  this  day,  under  the  narrator's  breath  — 
had  fallen  into  certain  transgressions  to  which  men  of  his 
great  animal  development,  wliatever  their  faith  or  prin- 
ciples,  must  continue  liable,  until  they  put  off"  impurity, 
along  with  the  gross  earthly  substance  that  involves  it. 
We  must  not  stain  our  page  with  any  contemporary  scan- 


THE    PYNCHEON   OF   TO-DAY.  143 

dal,  to  a  similar  purport,  that  may  have  been  whispered 
against  the  Judge.  The  Puritan,  again,  an  autocrat  in  his 
own  household,  had  worn  out  three  wives,  and,  merely 
by  the  remorseless  weight  and  hardness  of  his  character 
in  the  conjugal  relation,  had  sent  them,  one  after  another, 
broken-hearted,  to  their  graves.  Here,  the  parallel,  in 
some  sort,  fails.  The  Judge  had  wedded  but  a  single 
wife,  and  lost  her  in  the  third  or  fourth  year  of  their 
marriage.  There  was  a  fable,  however,  —  for  such  we 
choose  to  consider  it,  though,  not  impossibly,  typical  of 
Judge  Pyncheon's  marital  deportment,  —  that  the  lady 
got  her  death-blow  in  the  honeymoon,  and  never  smiled 
again,  because  her  husband  compelled  her  to  serve  him 
with  coffee  every  morning  at  his  bedside,  in  token  of 
fealty  to  her  liege-lord  and  master. 

But  it  is  too  fruitful  a  subject,  this  of  hereditary 
resemblances,  —  the  frequent  recurrence  of  which,  in  a 
direct  hue,  is  truly  unaccountable,  when  we  consider  how 
large  an  accumulation  of  ancestry  lies  behind  every  man, 
at  the  distance  of  one  or  two  centuries.  We  shall  only 
add,  therefore,  that  the  Puritan  —  so,  at  least,  says 
chinmey-corner  tradition,  which  often  preserves  traits  of 
character  with  marvellous  fidelity  —  was  bold,  imperious, 
relentless,  crafty;  laying  his  purposes  deep,  and  follow- 
ing them  out  with  an  inveteracy  of  pursuit  that  knew 
neither  rest  nor  conscience ;  trampling  on  the  weak,  and, 
when  essential  to  his  ends,  doing  his  utmost  to  beat 
down  the  strong.  Whether  the  Judge  in  any  degree 
resembled  him,  the  further  progress  of  our  narrative  may 
show. 

Scarcely  any  of  the  items  in  the  above-drawn  parallel 
occurred  to  Phoebe,  whose  country  birth  and  residence, 
in  truth,  had  left  her  pitifully  ignorant  of  most  of  the 
family  traditions,  which  hngered,  like  cobwebs  and  in- 


144   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

crustatious  of  smoke,  about  the  rooms  aud  chimuey-cor- 
uers  of  the  House  of  the  Seveu  Gables.  Yet  there  was 
a  circumstance,  very  trifling  in  itself,  which  impressed 
her  with  an  odd  degree  of  horror.  She  had  heard  of  the 
anathema  flung  by  Maule,  the  executed  wizard,  against 
Colonel  Pyncheon  and  his  posterity, — that  God  would 
give  them  blood  to  drink,  —  and  likewise  of  the  popular 
notion,  that  this  miraculous  blood  might  now  aud  then  be 
heard  gurgling  iu  their  throats.  The  latter  scandal  —  as 
became  a  person  of  sense,  aud,  more  especially,  a  member 
of  the  Pyncheon  family  —  Phoebe  had  set  down  for  the 
absurdity  which  it  unquestionably  was.  But  ancient 
superstitions,  after  being  steeped  in  human  hearts,  and 
embodied  in  human  breath,  and  passing  from  lip  to  ear, 
in  manifold  repetition,  through  a  series  of  generations, 
become  imbued  with  an  effect  of  homely  truth.  The 
smoke  of  the  domestic  hearth  has  scented  them,  through 
and  through.  By  long  transmission  among  household 
facts,  they  grow  to  look  like  them,  and  have  such  a 
familiar  way  of  makmg  themselves  at  home,  that  their 
inlluence  is  usually  greater  than  we  susj^ect.  Thus  it 
happened,  that  when  Phoebe  heard  a  certain  noise  in 
Judge  Pyncheon's  throat,  —  rather  habitual  with  him, 
not  altogether  voluntary,  yet  indicative  of  nothing,  unless 
it  were  a  slight  bronchial  complaint,  or,  as  some  people 
hinted,  an  apoplectic  symptom,  —  when  the  girl  heard 
this  queer  and  awkward  ingurgitaiion  (which  the  writer 
never  did  hear,  and  therefore  cannot  describe),  she,  very 
fooUshly,  started,  and  clasped  her  hands. 

Of  course,  it  was  exceedingly  ridiculous  in  Phoebe  to 
be  discomposed  by  such  a  trifle,  and  still  more  unpardon- 
able to  show  her  discomposure  to  the  individual  most 
concerned  in  it.  But  the  incident  chimed  in  so  oddly 
with  her  previous  fancies  about   the  Colonel  and  the 


THE    PYXCHEON    OF    TO-DAY.  145 

Judge,  that,  for  the  moment,  it  seemed  quite  to  mingle 
their  identity. 

"  What  is  the  matter  mth  you,  young  womun  ?  "  said 
Judge  Pyncheon,  giving  her  one  of  his  harsh  looks. 
*'  Are  you  afraid  of  anything  ?  " 

"  O,  nothing,  sir,  — nothing  in  the  world  !  "  answered 
Phoebe,  with  a  little  laugh  of  vexation  at  herself.  "  But 
perhaps  you  wish  to  speak  with  my  cousin  Hepzibah. 
Shall  I  call  her?" 

"  Stay  a  moment,  if  you  please,"  said  the  Judge,  again 
beaming  sunshine  out  of  his  face.  "  You  seem  to  be  a 
little  nervous,  this  morning.  The  town  air.  Cousin 
Phoebe,  does  not  agree  with  your  good,  wholesome  coun- 
try habits.     Or,  has  anythmg  happened  to  disturb  you  ? 

—  anything  remarkable  in  Cousin  Hepzibah's  family  ?  — 
An  arrival,  eh  ?  1  thought  so !  No  wonder  you  are 
out  of  sorts,  my  little  cousin.  To  be  an  inmate  with 
such  a  guest  may  well  startle  an  innocent  young  girl !  " 

"You  quite  puzzle  me,  sir,"  repUed  Phoebe,  gazing 
inquiringly  at  the  Judge.  "  There  is  no  frightful  guest 
in  the  house,  but  only  a  poor,  gentle,  childlike  man, 
whom  I  believe  to  be  Cousin  Hepzibah's  brother.  I  am 
afraid  (but  you,  sir,  will  know  better  than  I)  that  he  is 
not  quite  in  his  sound  senses ;  but  so  mild  and  quiet  he 
seems  to  be,  that  a  mother  might  trust  her  baby  with 
him ;  and  I  think  he  would  play  with  the  baby,  as  if  he 
were  only  a  few  years  older  than  itself.     He  startle  me  ! 

—  0,  no  indeed  !  " 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  so  favorable  and  so  ingenuous  an  ac- 
count of  my  cousin  Clifford,"  said  the  benevolent  Judge. 
"  Many  years  ago,  when  we  were  boys  and  young  men 
■together,  I  had  a  great  affection  for  him,  and  still  feel 
a  tender  interest  in  all  his  concerns.  You  say.  Cousin 
Phoebe,  he  appears  to  be  weak-minded.     Heaven  grant 


146   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

him  at  least  enough  of  mtellect  to  repent  of  his  past 
sins  ! " 

"  Nobody,  I  fancy,"  observed  Phoebe,  "  can  have  fewer 
to  repent  ot?' 

"  And  is  it  possible,  my  dear,"  rejoined  the  Judge,  with 
a  commiserating  look,  "  that  you  have  never  heard  of 
Clifford  Pyncheon  ?  —  that  you  know  nothing  of  his  his- 
tory ?  Well,  it  is  all  right ;  and  your  mother  has  shown 
a  very  proper  regard  for  the  good  name  of  the  family 
with  which  she  connected  herself.  Believe  the  best  you 
can  of  this  unfortunate  person,  and  hope  the  best !  It 
is  a  rule  which  Christians  should  always  follow,  in  their 
judgments  of  one  another;  and  especially  is  it  right  and 
wise  among  near  relatives,  whose  characters  have  neces- 
sarily a  degree  of  mutual  dependence.  But  is  Clifford  in 
the  parlor  ?     I  will  just  step  in  and  see." 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  I  had  better  call  my  cousin  Hepzibah," 
said  Phoebe ;  hardly  knowing,  however,  whether  she 
ought  to  obstruct  the  entrance  of  so  affectionate  a  kins- 
man into  the  private  regions  of  the  house.  "  Her  brother 
seemed  to  be  just  falling  asleep,  after  breakfast ;  and  I 
am  sure  she  would  not  like  him  to  be  disturbed.  Pray, 
sir,  let  me  give  her  notice !  " 

But  the  Judge  showed  a  singular  determination  to 
enter  unannounced ;  and  as  Phoebe,  with  the  vivacity  of 
a  person  whose  movements  unconsciously  answer  to  her 
thoughts,  had  stepped  towards  the  door,  he  used  Httle  or 
no  ceremony  in  putting  her  aside. 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Phcebe  !  "  said  Judge  Pyncheon,  in  a 
voice  as  deep  as  a  tliunder-growl,  and  with  a  frown  as 
black  as  the  cloud  whence  it  issues.  "  Stay  you  here ! 
I  know  the  house,  and  know  my  cousin  Hepzibah,  and 
know  her  brother  Clifford  likewise  !  —  nor  need  my  little 
country  cousin  put  herself  to  the  trouble  of  announcing 


THE   PYNCHEON   OF   TO-DAY.  147 

me  I "  —  in  these  latter  words,  by  the  by,  there  were 
symptoms  of  a  change  from  his  sudden  harshness  into 
his  previous  benignity  of  manner.  "  I  am  at  home  here, 
Phoebe,  you  must  recollect,  and  you  are  the  stranger. 
I  will  just  step  in,  therefore,  and  see  for  myself  how 
CliflTord  is,  and  assure  him  and  Hepzibah  of  my  kindly 
feelings  and  best  wishes.  It  is  right,  at  this  juncture, 
that  they  should  both  hear  from  my  own  lips  how 
much  I  desire  to  serve  them.  Ha !  here  is  Hepzibah 
herself ! " 

Such  was  the  case.  The  vibrations  of  the  Judge's 
voice  had  reached  the  old  gentlewoman  in  the  parlor, 
where  she  sat,  with  face  averted,  waiting  on  her  brother's 
slumber.  She  now  issued  forth,  as  would  appear,  to 
defend  the  entrance,  looking,  we  must  needs  say,  amaz- 
ingly like  the  dragon  which,  in  fairy  tales,  is  wont  to  be 
the  guardian  over  an  enchanted  beauty.  The  habitual 
scowl  of  lier  brow  was,  undeniably,  too  fierce,  at  this 
moment,  to  pass  itself  off  on  the  innocent  score  of  near- 
sightedness ;  and  it  was  bent  on  Judge  Pyncheon  in  a 
way  that  seemed  to  confound,  if  not  alarm  him,  so  inade- 
quately had  he  estimated  the  moral  force  of  a  deeply 
grounded  antipathy.  She  made  a  repelling  gesture  witk 
her  hand,  and  stood,  a  perfect  picture  of  prohibition,  at 
full  length,  in  the  dark  frame  of  the  doorway.  But  we 
must  betray  Hepzibah'3  secret,  and  confess  that  the 
native  timorousness  of  her  character  even  now  developed 
itself,  in  a  quick  tremor,  which,  to  her  own  perception, 
6et  each  of  her  joints  at  variance  with  its  fellows. 

Possibly,  the  Judge  was  aware  how  little  true  hardi- 
hood lay  behind  Hepzibah's  formidable  front.  At  any 
rate,  being  a  gentleman  of  steady  nerves,  he  soon  recov- 
ered himself,  and  failed  not  to  approach  his  cousin  with 
outstretched  hand;    adopting  the   sensible   precaution. 


148   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

however,  to  cover  his  advance  with  a  smile,  so  broad  and 
sultry,  that,  had  it  been  only  half  as  warm  as  it  looked, 
a  treUis  of  grapes  might  at  once  have  turned  purple 
under  its  summer-like  exposure.  It  may  have  been  his 
purpose.  Indeed,  to  melt  poor  Hepzibah  on  the  spot,  as  if 
she  were  a  figure  of  yellow  wax. 

"  HepzilDah,  my  beloved  cousin,  I  am  rejoiced  ! "  ex- 
claimed the  Judge,  most  emphatically.  "  Now,  at  length, 
you  have  something  to  live  for.  Yes,  and  all  of  us,  let 
me  say,  your  friends  and  kindred,  have  more  to  live  for 
than  we  had  yesterday.  I  have  lost  no  time  in  hastening 
to  offer  any  assistance  in  my  power  towards  making  Clif- 
ford comfortable.  He  belongs  to  us  all.  I  know  how 
much  he  requires,  —  how  much  he  used  to  require, — 
with  his  dehcate  taste,  and  his  love  of  the  beautiful. 
Anything  in  my  house,  — pictures,  books,  wine,  luxuries  of 
the  table,  —  he  may  command  them  all !  It  would  afford 
me  most  heartfelt  gratification  to  see  him !  Shall  I  step 
in,  this  moment  ?  " 

"No,"  rephed  Hepzibah,  her  voice  quivering  too 
painfully  to  allow  of  many  words.  "  He  cannot  see 
visitors ! " 

"  A  visitor,  my  dear  cousin  !  —  do  you  call  me  so  ?  " 
cried  the  Judge,  whose  sensibility,  it  seems,  was  hurt 
by  the  coldness  of  the  phrase.  "  Nay,  then,  let  me  be 
Clifford's  host,  and  your  ovm  likewise.  Come  at  once  to 
my  house.  The  country  air,  and  all  the  conveniences  — 
I  may  say  luxuries  —  that  I  have  gathered  about  me, 
will  do  wonders  for  him.  And  you  and  I,  dear  Hep- 
zibah, will  consult  together,  and  watch  together,  and 
labor  together,  to  make  our  dear  Clifford  happy.  Come  ! 
why  should  we  make  more  words  about  what  is  both 
a  duty  and  a  pleasure,  on  mv  part  ?  Come  to  me  ai 
once !'" 


THE    PYNCHEON    OF    TO-DAY.  149 

On  hearing  these  so  hospitable  offers,  and  such  gener- 
ous recognition  of  the  claims  of  kindred,  Phoebe  felt  very 
much  in  the  mood  of  running  up  to  Judge  Pyncheon, 
and  giving  him,  of  her  own  accord,  the  kiss  from  which 
she  had  so  recently  shrunk  away.  It  was  quite  other- 
wise  with  Hepzibah  ;  the  Judge's  smile  seemed  to  operate 
on  her  acerbity  of  heart  like  sunshine  upon  vinegar,  mak- 
ing it  ten  times  sourer  than  ever. 

"  Clifford,"  said  she,  —  still  too  agitated  to  utter 
more  than  an  abrupt  sentence,  —  "  Clifford  has  a  home 
here  ! " 

"May  Heaven  forgive  you,  Hepzibah,"  said  Judge 
Pyncheon,  —  reverently  Hfting  his  eyes  towards  that 
high  court  of  equity  to  which  he  appealed,  —  "  if  you 
suffer  any  ancient  prejudice  or  animosity  to  weigh  with 
you  in  this  matter  !  I  stand  here,  with  an  open  heart, 
wilhng  and  anxious  to  receive  yourself  and  Clifford  into 
it.  Do  not  refuse  my  good  offices,  —  my  earnest  propo- 
sitions for  your  welfare  !  They  are  such,  in  all  respects, 
as  it  behooves  your  nearest  kinsman  to  make.  It  will  be 
a  heavy  responsibility,  cousin,  if  you  confine  your  brother 
to  this  dismal  house  and  stifled  air,  when  the  delightful 
freedom  of  my  country-seat  is  at  his  command." 

"It  would  never  suit  Clifford,"  said  Hepzibah,  as  briefly 
as  before. 

"  Woman ! "  broke  forth  the  Judge,  giving  way  to  his 
resentment,  "what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  Have 
you  other  resources  ?  Nay,  I  suspected  as  much  !  Take 
care,  Hepzibah,  take  care  !  Clifford  is  on  the  brink  of  aa, 
black  a  ruin  as  ever  befell  him  yet !  But  why  do  I  talk 
with  you,  woman  as  you  are  ?  Make  way  !  —  I  must  see 
Clifford  ! " 

Hepzibah  spread  out  her  gaunt  figure  across  the  door, 
and  seemed  really  to  increase  in  bulk ;  looking  the  more 


150   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

terrible,  also,  because  there  was  so  much  terror  and  agi- 
tation in  her  heart.  But  Judge  Pyncheon's  evident  pur- 
pose of  forcing  a  passage  was  interrupted  by  a  voice 
from  the  inner  room  ;  a  weak,  tremulous,  wailing  voice, 
indicating  helpless  alarm,  with  no  more  energy  for  self- 
defence  than  belongs  to  a  frightened  infant. 

"  Hepzibah,  Hepzibah  !  "  cried  the  voice ;  "  go  down 
on  your  knees  to  him  !  Kiss  his  feet !  Entreat  him  not 
to  come  in !  O,  let  him  have  mercy  on  me  !  Mercy !  — 
mercy ! " 

For  the  instant,  it  appeared  doubtful  whether  it  were 
not  the  Judge's  resolute  purpose  to  set  Kepzibah  aside, 
and  step  across  the  threshold  into  the  parlor,  whence 
issued  that  broken  and  miserable  murmur  of  entreaty. 
It  was  not  pity  that  restrained  him,  for,  at  the  first 
sound  of  the  enfeebled  voice,  a  red  fire  kindled  in  his 
eyes,  and  he  made  a  quick  pace  forward,  with  somethmg 
inexpressively  fierce  and  grim  darkening  forth,  as  it  were, 
out  of  the  whole  man.  To  know  Judge  Pynchean,  was 
to  see  him  at  that  moment.  After  such  a  revela?^jn,  let 
him  smile  with  what  sultriness  he  would,  he  could  much 
sooner  turn  grapes  purple,  or  pumpkins  yellow,  than 
melt  the  iron-branded  impression  out  of  the  beholder's 
memory.  And  it  rendered  his  aspect  not  the  less,  but 
more  frightful,  that  it  seemed  not  to  express  wrath  or 
hatred,  but  a  certain  hot  fellness  of  purpose,  which  an- 
niliilated  everything  but  itself. 

"Xet,  after  all,  are  we  not  slandering  an  excellent  and 
amiable  man  ?  Look  at  the  Judge  now  !  He  is  appar- 
ently conscious  of  having  erred,  in  too  energetically 
pressing  his  deeds  of  lovmg-kindness  on  persons  unable 
to  appreciate  them.  He  will  await  their  better  mood, 
and  hold  himself  as  ready  to  assist  them  tlien,  as  at  this 
moment.     As  he  draws  back  from  the  door,  an  all-com- 


THE    PYNCHEON    OF    TO-DAY.  151 

prehensive  benignity  blazes  from  his  visage,  indicating 
that  he  gathers  Hepzibah,  httle  Phcebe,  and  the  mvisible 
Chfford,  ail  tliree,  together  with  the  wliole  world  besides, 
into  his  immense  heart,  and  gives  them  a  warm  bath  in 
its  flood  of  affection. 

"  You  do  me  great  wrong,  dear  Cousin  Hepzibah !  " 
said  he,  first  kindly  offermg  her  his  hand,  and  then  draw- 
ing on  his  glove  preparatory  to  departure.  "  Very  great 
wrong !  But  I  forgive  it,  and  will  study  to  make  you 
think  better  of  me.  Of  course,  our  poor  Clifford  being 
in  so  unhappy  a  state  of  mind,  I  cannot  think  of  urging 
an  interview  at  present.  But  I  shall  watch  over  his 
welfare,  as  if  he  were  my  own  beloved  brother ;  nor  do 
I  at  all  despair,  my  dear  cousm,  of  constraining  both  him 
and  you  to  acknowledge  your  injustice.  When  that, 
shall  happen,  I  desire  no  other  rev^enge  than  your  ac- 
ceptance of  the  best  offices  in  my  power  to  do  you." 

With  a  bow  to  Hepzibah,  and  a  degree  of  paternal 
benevolence  in  his  parting  nod  to  Phoebe,  the  Judge  left 
the  shop,  and  went  smiling  along  the  street.  •  As  is  cus- 
tomary with  the  rich,  when  they  aim  at  the  honors  of  a 
republic,  he  apologized,  as  it  were,  to  the  people,  for  his 
wealth,  prosperity,  and  elevated  station,  by  a  free  and 
hearty  manner  towards  those  who  knew  him ;  putting  off 
the  more  of  his  dignity,  in  due  proportion  with  the  hum- 
bleness of  the  man  whom  he  saluted,  and  thereby  proving 
a  haughty  consciousness  of  his  advantages  as  irrefraga- 
bly  as  if  he  had  marched  forth  preceded  by  a  troop  of 
lackeys  to  clear  the  way.  On  this  particular  forenoon  so 
excessive  was  the  warmth  of  Judge  Pyncheon's  kindly 
aspect,  that  (such,  at  least,  was  the  rumor  about  town) 
an  extra  passage  of  the  water-carts  was  found  essential, 
in  order  to  lay  the  dust  occasioned  by  so  much  extra 
sunshine! 


152   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

No  sooner  had  he  disappeared  than  Hepzibah  grew 
deadly  white,  and,  staggering  towards  Phoebe,  let  her 
head  fall  on  the  young  girl's  shoulder. 

"O  Phoebe!"  murmured  she,  "that  man  has  been 
the  horror  of  my  life  !  Shall  I  never,  never  have  the 
courage,  —  will  my  voice  never  cease  from  trembling 
long  enough  to  let  me  tell  him  what  he  is  ?  " 

"  Is  he  so  very  wicked  ?  "  asked  Phoebe.  "  Yet  his 
offers  were  surely  kind !  " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  them,  —  he  has  a  heart  of  iron !  " 
rejoined  Hepzibah.  "Go,  now,  and  talk  to  Clifford! 
Amuse  and  keep  him  quiet !  It  would  disturb  him 
wretchedly  to  see  me  so  agitated  as  I  am.  There,  go, 
dear  child,  and  I  will  try  "to  look  after  the  shop." 

Phoebe  went,  accordmgly,  but  perplexed  herself,  mean- 
while, with  queries  as  to  the  purport  of  the  scene  which 
she  had  just  witnessed,  and  also,  whether  judges,  clergy- 
men, and  other  characters  of  that  eminent  stamp  and 
respectability,  could  really,  in  any  single  instance,  be 
otherwise  Ihan  just  and  upriglit  men.  A  doubt  of  this 
nature  has  a  most  disturbing  influence,  and,  if  shown 
to  be  a  fact,  comes  with  fearful  and  startUng  effect, 
on  minds  of  the  trim,  orderly,  and  limit-loving  class, 
in  which  we  find  our  Httle  country-girl.  Dispositions 
more  boldly  speculative  may  derive  a  stern  enjoyment 
from  the  discovery,  since  there  must  be  evil  in  the  world, 
that  a  high  man  is  as  likely  to  grasp  his  share  of  it  as  a 
low  one.  A  mder  scope  of  view,  and  a  deeper  insight, 
may  see  rank,  dignity,  and  station,  all  proved  illusory,  so 
far  as  regards  their  claim  to  human  reverence,  and  yet 
not  feel  as  if  the  universe  were  thereby  tumbled  head- 
long into  chaos.  But  Phoebe,  in  order  to  keep  the 
universe  in  its  old  place,  was  fain  to  smother,  in  some 
degree,   her  ovni  intuitions  as    to    Judge  Pyncheon's 


THE  PYNCHEON  OF  TO-DAY. 


153 


character.  And  as  for  her  cousin's  testimony  in  dispar- 
agement of  it,  she  concluded  that  Hepzibah's  judgment 
was  imbittered  by  one  of  those  family  feuds,  which 
render  hatred  the  more  deadly,  by  the  dead  and  cor- 
rupted love  that  they  intermingle  with  its  native  poi- 


IX. 


CLIFFORD  AND  PHCEBE. 


RULY  "was  there  something  high,  generous,  and 
noble  in  the  native  composition  of  our  poor  old 
Hepzibah  !  Or  else,  —  and  it  was  quite  a§ 
probably  the  case,  —  she  had  been  enriched  by  poverty, 
developed  by  sorrow,  elevated  by  the  strong  and  solitary 
affection  of  her  hfe.  and  thus  endowed  with  heroism, 
which  never  could  have  characterized  her  in  what  are 
called  happier  circumstances.  Through  dreary  years, 
Hepzibah  had  looked  forward  —  for  the  most  part  de- 
spairingly, never  with  auy  confidence  of  hope,  but  always 
with  the  feeling  that  it  was  her  brightest  possibility  — 
to  the  very  position  in  which  she  now  found  herself.  In 
her  own  behalf,  she  had  asked  nothing  of  Providence, 
but  the  opportunity  of  devoting  herself  to  this  brother, 
whom  she  had  so  loved,  —  so  admired  tor  wtiat  he  was,  i 
or  might  have  been,  —  and  to  whom  she  had  kept  her 
faith,  alone  of  all  the  world,  wholly,  unfalteringly,  at 
every  instant,  and  throughout  life.  And  here,  in  his  late 
decHne,  the  lost  one  had  come  back  out  of  his  long  and 
strange  misfortune,  and  was  thrown  on  her  sympathy,  as 
it  seemed,  not  merely  for  the  bread  of  his  physical  exist- 
ence, but  for  everything  that  should  keep  him  morally 


CLIFFORD    AND    PKCEBE.  155 

alive.  She  had  responded  to  the  call.  She  had  come 
forward,  —  our  poor,  gaunt  Hepzibah,  in  her  rusty  silks, 
with  her  rigid  joints,  and  the  sad  perversity  of  her  scowl, 
—  ready  to  do  her  utmost ;  and  with  affection  enough,  if 
that  were  all,  to  do  a  hundred  times  as  much  !  There 
could  be  few  more  tearful  sights,  —  and  Heaven  forgive 
us,  if  a  smile  insist  on  mingling  with  our  conception  of 
it !  —  few  sights  with  truer  pathos  in  them,  than  Hep- 
zibah presented,  on  that  first  afternoon. 

How  patiently  did  she  endeavor  to  wrap  Clifford  up  in 
her  great,  warm  love,  and  make  it  all  the  w^orld  to  him, 
so  that  he  should  retain  no  torturing  sense  of  the  cold- 
ness and  dreariness  Avithout !  Her  little  efforts  to  amuse 
him  !     How  pitiful,  yet  magnanimous,  they  were  ! 

Remembering  his  early  love  of  poetry  and  fiction,  she 
unlocked  a  bookcase,  and  took  down  several  books  that 
had  been  excellent  reading  in  their  day.  There  was  a 
volume  of  Pope,  with  the  Rape  of  the  Lock  in  it,  and 
another  of  the  Tatler,  and  an  odd  one  of  Dryden's  Mis- 
cellanies, all  with  tarnished  gilding  on  their  covers,  and 
thoughts  of  tarnished  brilliancy  inside.  They  had  no 
success  with  ClijEFord.  These,  and  all  such  writers  of 
society,  whose  new  works  glow  like  the  rich  texture  of  a 
just-woven  carpet,  must  be  content  to  relinquish  their 
charm,  for  every  reader,  after  an  age  or  two,  and  could 
hardly  be  supposed  to  retain  any  portion  of  it  for  a  mind 
iliat  had  utterly  lost  its  estimate  of  modes  and  manners. 
Hepzibah  then  took  up  Rasselas,  and  began  to  read  of 
the  Happy  Valley,  with  a  vague  idea  that  some  secret  of 
a  contented  life  had  there  been  elaborated,  which  might 
at  least  serve  Clifford  and  herself  for  this  one  day.  But 
the  Happy  Valley  had  a  cloud  over  it,  Hepzibah  troub- 
led her  auditor,  moreover,  by  innumerable  sins  of  em- 
phasis, which  he  seemed  to  detect,  without  any  reference 


156   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

to  the  meaning ;  nor,  in  fact,  did  lie  appear  to  take  much 
note  of  the  sense  of  "^-hat  she  read,  but  evidently  felt  the 
tedium  of  the  lecture,  without  harvestmg  its  profit.  His 
sister's  voice,  too,  naturally  harsh,  had,  in  the  course  of 
her  sorrowful  Hfetime,  contracted  a  kind  of  croak,  which, 
when  it  once  gets  into  the  human  throat,  is  as  ineradi- 
cable as  siu.  In  both  sexes,  occasionally,  this  life-long 
croak,  accompanying  each  word  of  joy  or  sorrow,  is  one 
of  the  symptoms  of  a  settled  melancholy ;  and  wherever 
it  occurs,  the  whole  history  of  misfortune  is  conveyed  ia 
its  shghtest  accent.  The  effect  is  as  if  the  voice  had 
been  dyed  black ;  or,  —  if  we  must  use  a  more  moderate 
simile, — this  miserable  croak,  rmmmg  through  all  the 
variations  of  the  voice,  is  like  a  black  silken  thread,  on 
which  the  crystal  beads  of  speech  are  strung,  and  whence 
they  take  their  hue.  Such  voices  have  put  on  mourning 
for  dead  hopes;  and  they  ought  to  die  and  be  buried 
along  with  them  ! 

Discerning  that  Clifford  was  not  gladdened  by  her  ef- 
forts, Hepzibah  searched  about  the  house  for  the  means 
of  more  exhilarating  pastime.  At  one  time,  her  eyes 
chanced  to  rest  on  Ahce  Pyncheon's  harpsichord.  It  was 
a  moment  of  great  peril ;  for,  —  despite  the  traditionary 
awe  that  had  gathered  over  this  instrument  of  music, 
and  the  dirges  which  spiritual  fingers  were  said  to  play 
on  it,  —  the  devoted  sister  had  solemn  thoughts  of 
thrumming  on  its  chords  for  Clifford's  benefit,  and  ac- 
companymg  the  performance  with  her  voice.  Poor  Clif- 
ford !  Poor  Hepzibah !  Poor  harpsichord  !  AH  three 
would  have  been  miserable  together.  By  some  good 
agency, — possibly,  by  the  unrecognized  interposition  of 
the  long-buried  Alice  herself,  —  the  threatening  calamity 
was  averted. 

But  the  worst  of  all  —  the  hardest  stroke  of  fate  for 


CLIFFORD    AND    PHGEBE.  157 

Hepzibali  to  endure,  and  perhaps  for  Clifford  too  —  was 
his  invincible  distaste  for  her  appearance.  Her  features, 
never  the  most  agreeable,  and  now  harsh  with  age  and 
grief,  and  resentment  against  the  world  for  his  sake ;  her 
dress,  and  especially  her  turban ;  the  queer  and  quaint 
manners,  which  had  unconsciously  grown  upon  her  in 
sohtude ;  —  such  being  the  poor  gentlewoman's  outward 
characteristics,  it  is  no  great  marvel,  although  the  mourn- 
fullest  of  pities,  that  the  instinctive  lover  of  the  Beautiful 
was  fain  to  turn  away  his  eyes.  There  was  no  help  for 
it.  It  would  be  the  latest  impulse  to  die  within  him. 
In  his  last  extremity,  the  expiring  breath  stealing  faintly 
through  Clifford's  lips,  he  would  doubtless  press  Hepzi- 
bah's  hand,  in  fervent  recognition  of  all  her  lavished 
love,  and  close  his  eyes,  —  but  not  so  much  to  die,  as 
to  be  constrained  to  look  no  longer  on  her  face  !  Poor 
Hepzibah  !  She  took  counsel  with  herself  what  might.be 
done,  and  thought  of  putting  ribbons  on  her  turban;  but, 
by  the  instant  rush  of  several  guardian  angels,  was  with- 
held from  an  experiment  that  could  hardly  have  proved 
less  than  fatal  to  the  beloved  object  of  her  anxiety. 

To  be  brief,  besides  Hepzibah's  disadvantages  of  per- 
son, there  was  an  uncouthness  pervading  all  her  deeds  ; 
a  clumsy  something,  that  could  but  ill  adapt  itself  for 
use,  and  not  at  all  for  ornament.  She  was  a  grief  to 
Clifford,  and  she  knew  it.  In  this  extremity,  the  anti- 
quated virgin  turned  to  Phoebe.  No  grovelling  jealousy 
was  in  her  heart.  Had  it  pleased  Heaven  to  crown  the 
heroic  fidelity  of  her  life  by  making,  her  personally  the 
medium  of  Clifford's  happiness,  it  would  have  rewarded 
her  for  all  the  past,  by  a  joy  with  no  bright  tints,  indeed, 
but  deep  and  true,  and  worth  a  thousand  gayer  ecstasies. 
This  could  not  be.  She  therefore  turned  to  Phosbe,  and 
resigned  the  task  into  the  young  girl's  hands.    The  latter 


158   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

took  it  up,  cheerfully,  as  slie  did  everything,  but  with 
no  sense  of  a  mission  to  perform,  and  succeeding  all  the 
better  for  that  same  simplicity. 

By  the  involuntary  effect  of  a  genial  temperament, 
Phoebe  soon  grew  to  he  absolutely  essential  to  the  daily 
comfort,  if  not  the  daily  life,  of  her  two  forlorn  compan- 
ions. The  grime  and  sordidness  of  the  Housp  of  the 
Seven  Gables  seemed  to  have  vanished,  since  her  appear- 
ance there  ;  the  gnawing  tooth  of  the  dry-rot  was  stayed, 
among  the  old  timbers  of  its  skeleton  frame  ;  the  dust 
had  ceased  to  settle  down  so  densely,  from  the  antique 
ceilings,  upon  the  floors  and  furniture  of  the  rooms  be- 
low ;  —  or,  at  any  rate,  there  was  a  little  housewife,  as 
light-footed  as  the  breeze  that  sweeps  a  garden  walk, 
gliding  hither  and  thither,  to  brush  it  all  away.  The 
shadows  of  gloomy  events,  that  haunted  the  else  lonely 
and  desolate  apartments ;  the  heavy,  breathless  scent 
which  death  had  left  in  more  than  one  of  the  bedcham- 
bers, ever  since  his  visits  of  long  ago  ;  —  these  were  less 
powerful  than  the  purifying  influence  scattered  through- 
out the  atmosphere  of  the  household  by  the  presence 
of  one  youthful,  fresh,  and  thoroughly  wholesome  heart. 
There  was  no  morbidness  in  Phoebe ;  if  there  had  been, 
the  old  Pyncheon  House  was  the  very  locality  to  ripen  it 
into  incurable  disease.  But  now  her  spirit  resembled,  in 
its  potency,  a  minute  quantity  of  ottar  of  rose  in  one  of 
Hepzibah's  huge,  iron-bound  trunks,  diffusing  its  fra- 
grance through  the  various  articles  of  hnen  and  wrought- 
lace,  kerchiefs,  caps,  stockings,  folded  dresses,  gloves, 
and  whatever  else  was  treasured  there.  As  every  article 
in  the  gi'eat  trunk  was  the  sweeter  for  the  rose-scent,  so 
did  all  the  thoughts  and  emotions  of  Hepzibah  and  Clif- 
ford, sombre  as  they  might  seem,  acquire  a  subtile  attri- 
bute of  happiness  from  Phoebe's  intermixture  with  them. 


CLIFFORD   AND   PHCEBE.  159 

Her  activity  of  body,  intellect,  and  heart  impelled  her 
continually  to  perform  the  ordinary  little  toils  that  offered 
themselves  around  her,  and  to  think  the  thought  proper 
for  the  moment,  and  to  sympathize,  —  now  with  the 
twittering  gayety  of  the  robins  in  the  pear-tree,  and  now 
to  such  a  depth  as  she  could  with  Hepzibah's  dark 
anxiety,  or  the  vague  moan  of  her  brother.  This  facile 
adaptation  was  at  once  the  symptom  of  perfect  health, 
and  its  best  preservative. 

A  nature  like  Phoebe's  has  invariably  its  due  influence, 
but  is  seldom  regarded  with  due  honor.  Its  spiritual 
force,  however,  may  be  partially  estimated  by  the  fact  of 
her  having  found  a  place  for  herself,  amid  circumstances 
so  stern  as  those  which  surrounded  the  mistress  of  the 
house ;  and  also  by  the  effect  which  she  produced  on  a 
character  of  so  much  more  mass  than  her  own.  For  the 
gaunt,  bony  frame  and  limbs  of  Hepzibah,  as  compared 
with  the  tiny  lightsomeness  of  Phoebe's  figure,  were  per- 
haps in  some  fit  proportion  with  the  moral  weight  and 
substance,  respectively,  of  the  woman  and  the  girl. 

To  the  guest,  —  to  Hepzibah's  brother,  —  or  Cousin 
Clifford,  as  Phoebe  now  began  to  call  him,  —  she  was 
especially  necessary.  Not  that  he  could  ever  be  said  to 
converse  with  her,  or  often  manifest,  in  any  other  very 
definite  mode,  his  sense  of  a  charm  in  her  society.  But, 
if  she  were  a  long  while  absent,  he  became  pettish  and 
nervously  restless,  pacing  the  room  to  and  fro,  witli  the 
uncertainty  that  characterized  all  his  movements ;  or  else 
would  sit  broodingly  in  his  great  chair,  resting  his  head 
on  his  hands,  and  evincing  life  only  by  an  electric  sparkle 
of  ill-humor,  whenever  Hepzibah  endeavored  to  arouse 
him.  Phoebe's  presence,  and  the  contiguity  of  her  fresh 
hfe  to  his  blighted  one,  was  usually  all  that  he  required. 
Indeed,  such  was  the  native  gush  and  play  of  her  spirit, 


160   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

that  she  was  seldom  perfectly  quiet  and  undemonstrative, 
any  more  than  a  fountain  ever  ceases  to  dimple  and 
warble  with  its  flovr.  She  possessed  the  gift  of  song,  and 
that,  too,  so  naturally,  that  you  would  as  little  think  of 
inquiring  whence  she  had  caught  it,  or  what  master  had 
taught  her,  as  of  asking  the  same  questions  about  a  bird, 
in  whose  small  strain  of  music  we  recognize  the  voice  of 
the  Creator  as  distinctly  as  in  the  loudest  accents  of  his 
thunder.  So  long  as  Phoebe  sang,  she  might  stray  at  her 
own  will  about  the  house.  Clifford  was  content,  whether 
the  sweet,  airy  homeliness  of  her  tones  came  down  from 
the  upper  chambers,  or  along  the  passage-way  from  the 
shop,  or  was  sprinkled  through  the  foHage  of  the  pear- 
tree,  inward  from  the  garden,  with  the  twinkling  sun- 
beams. He  would  sit  quietly,  with  a  gentle  pleasure 
gleaming  over  his  face,  brighter  now,  and  now  a  little 
dimmer,  as  the  song  happened  to  float  near  him,  or  was 
more  remotely  heard.  It  pleased  him  best,  however, 
when  she  sat  on  a  low  footstool  at  his  knee. 

It  is  perhaps  remarkable,  considering  her  temperament, 
that  Phoebe  oftener  chose  a  strain  of  pathos  than  of  gay- 
ety.  But  the  young  and  happy  are  not  iU  pleased  to 
temper  their  hfe  with  a  transparent  shadow.  The  deep- 
est pathos  of  Phoebe's  voice  and  song,  moreover,  came 
sifted  through  the  golden  texture  of  a  cheery  spirit,  and 
was  somehow  so  interfused  with  the  quahty  thence  ac- 
quired, that  one's  heart  felt  ail  the  Kghter  for  having 
wept  at  it.  Broad  mirth,  in  the  sacred  presence  of  dark 
misfortune,  would  have  jarred  harshly  and  irreverently 
with  the  solemn  symphony  that  rolled  its  undertone 
through  Hepzibah's  and  her  brother's  life.  Therefore,  it 
was  well  that  Phoebe  so  often  chose  sad  themes,  and  not 
amiss  that  they  ceased  to  be  so  sad  while  she  was  singing 
them. 


CLIFFORD    AND    PHCEBE.  161 

Becoming  "habituated  to  lier  companionsliip,  Clifford 
readUy  showed  how  capable  of  imbibing  pleasant  tiats 
and  gleams  of  cheerful  light  fi*om  all  quarters  his  nature 
must  originally  have  been.  He  grew  youthful,  while  she 
sat  by  him.  A  beauty,  —  not  precisely  real,  even  in  its 
utmost  manifestation,  and  which  a  painter  would  have 
watched  long  to  seize  and  fix  upon  his  canvas,  and,  after 
all,  in  vain,  —  beauty,  nevertheless,  that  was  not  a  mere 
dream,  would  sometimes  play  upon  and  illuminate  his 
face.  It  did  more  than  to  illummate;  it  transfigured 
him  with  an  expression  that  could  only  be  interpreted  as 
the  glow  of  an  exquisite  and  happy  spirit.  That  gray 
hair,  and  those  furrows,  —  with  their  record  of  mfinite 
sorrow,  so  deeply  written  across  his  brow,  and  so  com- 
pressed, as  with  a  futile  effort  to  crowd  in  all  the  tale, 
that  the  whole  inscription  was  made  illegible,  —  these, 
for  the  moment,  vanished.  An  eye,  at  once  tender  and 
acute,  might  have  beheld  in  the  man  some  shadow  of 
what  he  was  meant  to  be.  Anon,  as  age  came  stealing, 
like  a  sad  twilight,  back  over  his  figure,  you  would  have 
felt  tempted  to  hold  an  argument  with  Destiny,  and 
affirm,  that  either  this  being  should  not  have  been  made 
mortal,  or  mortal  existence  should  have  been  tempered 
to  his  qualities.  There  seemed  no  necessity  for  his  hav- 
ing drawn  breath,  at  all ;  —  the  world  never  wanted 
him ;  —  but,  as  he  had  breathed,  it  ought  always  to  have 
been  the  balmiest  of  summer  air.  The  same  perplexity 
will  invariably  haunt  us  with  regard  to  natures  that  tend 
to  feed  exclusively  upon  the  Beautiful,  let  their  earthly 
fate  be  as  lenient  as  it  may. 

Phoebe,  it  is  probable,  had  but  a  very  imperfect  com- 
prehension of  the  character  over  which  she  had  thrown 
so  beneficent  a  spell.  Nor  was  it  necessary.  The  fire 
upon  the  hearth  can  gladden  a  whole  semicircle  of  faces 


162   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

round  about  it,  but  need  not  know  the  individuality  of 
one  among  them  all.  Indeed,  there  was  something  too 
fine  and  delicate  in  Clifford's  traits  to  be  perfectly  appre- 
ciated by  one  whose  sphere  lay  so  much  in  the  Actual  as 
Phcebe's  did.  Eor  Clifford,  however,  the  reality,  and 
simplicity,  and  thorough  homeliness,  of  the  girl's  nature, 
were  as  powerful  a  charm  as  any  that  she  possessed. 
Beauty,  it  is  true,  and  beauty  almost  perfect  in  its  own 
style,  was  indispensable.  Had  Phoebe  been  coarse  in 
feature,  shaped  clumsily,  of  a  harsh  voice,  and  uncouthly 
mannered,  she  might  have  been  rich  with  all  good  gifts, 
beneath  tliis  unfortunate  exterior,  and  still,  so  long  as 
she  wore  the  guise  of  woman,  she  would  have  shocked 
Chfford,  and  depressed  him  by  her  lack  of  beauty.  But 
nothing  more  beautiful  —  nothing  prettier,  at  least  — 
was  ever  made  than  Phoebe.  And,  therefore,  to  this 
man, — whose  whole  poor  and  impalpable  enjoyment  of 
existence,  heretofore,  and  until  both  his  heart  and  fancy 
died  within  him,  had  been  a  dream,  —  whose  images  of 
women  had  more  and  more  lost  their  warmth  and  sub- 
stance, and  been  frozen,  like  the  pictures  of  secluded 
artists,  into  the  chillest  ideality,  —  to  him,  this  little 
figure  of  the  cheeriest  household  life  was  just  what  he 
required  to  bring  him  back  into  the  breathing  world. 
Persons  who  have  wandered,  or  been  expelled,  out  of  the 
common  track  of  things,  even  were  it  for  a  better  system, 
desire  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  led  back.  They  shiver 
in  their  lonehness,  be  it  on  a  mountain-top  or  in  a  dun- 
geon. Now,  Phoebe's  presence  made  a  home  about  her, 
—  that  very  sphere  which  the  outcast,  the  prisoner,  the 
potentate,  —  the  wretch  beneath  mankind,  the  wretch 
aside  from  it,  or  the  wretch  above  it,  —  instinctively 
pines  after,  —  a  home !  She  was  real !  Holding  her 
hand,  you  felt  something;  a  tender  something;  a  sub- 


CLIFFORD    AND    PHCEBE.  163 

stance,  and  a  warm  one  :  and  so  long  as  you  should  feel 
its  grasp,  soft  as  it  was,  you  might  be  certain  that  your 
place  was  good  in  the  whole  sympathetic  chain  of  human 
nature.     The  world  was  no  longer  a  delusion. 

By  looking  a  little  further  in  this  direction,  we  might 
suggest  an  explanation  of  an  often-suggested  mystery. 
Why  are  poets  so  apt  to  choose  their  mates,  not  for  any 
similarity  of  poetic  endowment,  but  for  qualities  which 
might  make  the  happiness  of  the  rudest  handicraftsman 
as  well  as  that  of  the  ideal  craftsman  of  the  spirit  ?  Be- 
cause, probably,  at  his  highest  elevation,  the  poet  needs 
no  human  intercourse ;  but  he  finds  it  dreary  to  descend, 
and  be  a  stranger. 

There  was  something  very  beautiful  in  the  relation  that 
grew  up  between  this  pair,  so  closely  and  constantly 
huked  together,  yet  with  such  a  waste  of  gloomy  and 
mysterious  years  from  his  birthday  to  hers.  On  ChfFord's 
part,  it  was  the  feeling  of  a  man  naturally  endowed  with 
the  liveliest  sensibility  to  feminine  influence,  but  who 
had  never  quaffed  the  cup  of  passionate  love,  and  knew 
that  it  was  now  too  late.  He  knew  it,  with  the  instinc- 
tive delicacy  that  had  survived  his  intellectual  decay. 
Thus,  his  sentiment  for  Phoebe,  without  being  paternal, 
was  not  less  chaste  than  if  she  had  been  his  daughter. 
He  was  a  man,  it  is  true,  and  recognized  her  as  a  wo- 
man. She  was  his  only  representative  of  womankind. 
He  took  unfaihng  note  of  every  charm  that  appertained 
to  her  sex,  and  saw  the  ripeness  of  her  hps,  and  the 
virginal  development  of  her  bosom.  All  her  little  wo- 
manly ways,  budding  out  of  her  like  blossoms  on  a  young 
fruit-tree,  had  their  effect  on  him,  and  sometimes  caused 
his  very  heart  to  tingle  with  the  keenest  thrills  of  pleas- 
ure. At  such  moments, — for  the  effect  was  seldom 
more  than  momentary,  —  the  half-torpid  man  would  be 


164   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

full  of  harmonious  life,  just  as  a  loug-silent  harp  is  full  of 
sound,  when  the  musician's  fingers  sweep  across  it.  But, 
after  all,  it  seemed  rather  a  perception,  or  a  sympathy, 
than  a  sentiment  belonging  to  himself  as  an  individual 
He  read  Phoebe,  as  he  would  a  sweet  and  simple  story ; 
he  listened  to  her,  as  if  she  were  a  verse  of  household 
poetry,  which  God,  in  requital  of  his  bleak  and  dismal 
lot,  had  permitted  some  angel,  that  most  pitied  him,  to 
warble  through  the  house.  She  was  not  an  actual  fact 
for  him,  but  the  interpretation  of  all  that  he  had  lacked 
on  earth,  brought  warmly  home  to  his  conception ;  so 
that  this  mere  symbol,  or  lifelike  picture,  had  almost  the 
comfort  of  reahty. 

But  we  strive  in  vain  to  put  the  idea  into  words.  No 
adequate  expression  of  the  beauty  and  profound  pathos 
with  which  it  impresses  us  is  attainable.  This  being, 
made  only  for  happiness,  and  heretofore  so  miserably  fail- 
ing to  be  happy,  —  his  tendencies  so  hideously  thwarted, 
that,  some  unknown  time  ago,  the  delicate  springs  of  his 
character,  never  morally  or  intellectually  strong,  had 
given  way,  and  he  was  now  imbecile,  —  this  poor,  forlorn 
voyager  from  the  Islands  of  the  Blest,  in  a  frail  bark,  on 
a  tempestuous  sea,  had  been  flung,  by  the  last  mountain- 
wave  of  his  shipwreck,  into  a  quiet  harbor.  There,  as 
he  lay  more  than  half  lifeless  on  the  strand,  the  fragrance 
of  an  earthly  rosebud  had  come  to  his  nostrils,  and,  as 
odors  will,  had  summoned  up  reminiscences  or  visions 
of  all  the  livuig  and  breatliing  beauty  amid  which  he 
should  have  had  his  home.  With  his  native  suscepti- 
bility of  happy  influences,  he  inhales  the  slight,  ethereal 
rapture  into  his  soul,  and  expires ! 

And  how  did  Phoebe  regard  Clifford  ?  The  girl's  was 
not  one  of  those  natures  wliich  are  most  attracted  by 
what  is  strange  and  exceptional  ui  human  character. 


CLIFFORD   AND   PHGEBE.  165 

The  path  which  would  best  have  suited  her  was  the  well- 
worn  track  of  ordinary  life ;  the  companions  in  whom 
she  would  most  have  delighted  were  such  as  one  encoun- 
ters at  every  turn.  The  mystery  which  enveloped  CHf- 
ford,  so  far  as  it  affected  her  at  all,  was  an  annoyance, 
rather  than  the  piquant  charm  which  many  women  might 
have  found  in  it.  Still,  her  native  kindliness  was  brought 
strongly  into  play,  not  by  what  was  darkly  picturesque 
in  his  situation,  nor  so  touch,  even,  by  the  finer  graces  of 
his  character,  as  by  the  simple  appeal  of  a  heart  so  for- 
lorn as  his  to  one  so  full  of  genuine  sympathy  as  hers. 
She  gave  him  an  affectionate  regard,  because  he  needed 
so  much  love,  and  seemed  to  have  received  so  little. 
With  a  ready  tact,  the  result  of  ever-active  and  whole- 
some sensibility,  she  discerned  what  was  good  for  him, 
and  did  it.  Whatever  was  morbid  in  his  mind  and  ex- 
perience, she  ignored ;  and  thereby  kept  their  intercourse 
healthy,  by  the  incautious,  but,  as  it  were,  heaven- 
directed  freedom  of  her  whole  conduct.  The  sick  in 
mind,  and,  perhaps,  in  body,  are  rendered  more  darkly 
and  hopelessly  so,  by  the  manifold  reflection  of  their  dis- 
ease, mirrored  back  from  all  quarters,  in  the  deportment 
of  those  about  them  ;  they  are  compelled  to  inhale  the 
poison  of  their  own  breath,  in  infinite  repetition.  But 
Phoebe  afforded  her  poor  patient  a  supply  of  purer  air. 
She  impregnated  it,  too,  not  with  a  wild-flower  scent,  — 
for  wildness  was  no  trait  of  hers,  —  but  with  the  perfume 
of  garden-roses,  pinks,  and  other  blossoms  of  much  sweet- 
ness, which  nature  and  man  have  consented  together  in 
making  grow  from  summer  to  summer,  and  from  cen- 
tury to  century.  Such  a  flower  was  Phoebe,  in  her  rela- 
tion with  Clifford,  and  such  the  delight  that  he  inhaled 
from  her. 

Yet,  it  must  be  said,  her  petals  sometimes  drooped 


166   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

a  little,  in  consequence  of  the  heavy  atmosphere  about 
her.  She  grew  more  thoughtful  than  heretofore.  Look- 
ing aside  at  Clifford's  face,  and  seeing  the  dim,  unsatis- 
factory elegance  and  the  intellect  almost  quenched,  she 
would  try  to  inquire  what  had  been  his  life.  Was  he 
always  thus  ?  Had  this  veil  been  over  him  from  his 
birth  ?  —  this  veil,  under  which  far  more  of  his  spirit 
was  hidden  than  revealed,  and  through  which  he  so  im- 
perfectly discerned  the  actual  world,  —  or  was  its  gray 
texture  woven  of  some  dark  calamity  ?  Phoebe  loved  no 
riddles,  and  would  have  been  glad  to  escape  the  perplex- 
ity  of  this  one.  Nevertheless,  there  was  so  far  a  good 
result  of  her  meditations  on  Cliiford's  character,  that, 
when  her  involuntary  conjectures,  together  with  the  ten- 
dency of  every  strange  circumstance  to  tell  its  own 
story,  had  gradually  taught  her  the  fact,  it  had  no  terri- 
ble effect  upon  her.  Let  the  world  have  done  him  what 
vast  wrong  it  might,  she  knew  Cousin  Clifford  too  well, 
—  or  fancied  so,  —  ever  to  shudder  at  the  touch  of  his 
thin,  delicate  fingers. 

Within  a  few  days  after  the  appearance  of  this  remark- 
able inmate,  the  routine  of  life  had  established  itself  with 
a  good  deal  of  uniformity  in  the  old  house  of  our  narra- 
tive. In  the  morning,  very  shortly  after  breakfast,  it 
was  Clifford's  custom  to  fall  asleep  in  his  chair ;  nor, 
unless  accidentally  disturbed,  would  he  emerge  from  a 
dense  cloud  of  slumber  or  the  thinner  mists  that  flitted 
to  and  fro,  until  well  towards  noonday.  These  hours 
of  drowsihead  were  the  season  of  the  old  gentlewoman's 
attendance  on  her  brother,  while  Phoebe  took  charge  of 
the  shop  ;  an  arrangement  which  the  public  speedily  un- 
derstood, and  evinced  their  decided  preference  of  the 
younger  shopwoman  by  the  multiphcity  of  their  calls 
during  her  administration  of  affairs.     Dinner  over,  Hep- 


CLIFFORD    AND    PHCEBE. 


167 


eibah  took  her  knitting- work,  —  a  long  stocking  of  gray 
yarn,  for  her  brother's  winter-wear,  —  and  with  a  sigh, 
and  a  scowl  of  affectionate  farewell  to  Clifford,  and  a 
gesture  enjoining  watchfulness  on  Phoebe,  went  to  take 
her  seat  behind  the  counter.  It  was  now  the  young  girl's 
turn  to  be  the  nurse,  —  the  guardian,  the  playmate,  —  or 
whatever  is  the  fitter  phrase,  —  of  the  gray -haired  man. 


X. 


THE  PYNCHEON  GARDEN. 


LIFFOED,  except  for  Phoebe's  more  active  in- 
stigation, would  ordinarily  have  yielded  to  the 
torpor  which  had  crept  through  all  his  modes 
of  being,  and  which  sluggishly  counselled  him  to  sit  in 
his  morning  chair  till  eventide.  But  the  girl  seldom 
failed  to  propose  a  removal  to  the  garden,  where  Uncle 
Venner  and  the  daguerreotypist  had  made  such  repairs 
on  the  roof  of  the  ruinous  arbor,  or  summer-house,  that 
it  was  now  a  sufficient  shelter  from  sunshine  and  casual 
showers.  The  hop-vine,  too,  had  begun  to  grow  luxu- 
riantly over  the  sides  of  the  little  edifice,  and  made  an 
interior  of  verdant  seclusion,  with  innumerable  peeps  and 
glimpses  into  the  wider  solitude  of  the  garden. 

Here,  sometimes,  in  this  green  play -place  of  flickering 
light,  Phoebe  read  to  Chfford.  Her  acquaintance,  the  art- 
ist, who  appeared  to  have  a  literary  turn,  had  supplied 
lier  with  works  of  fiction,  in  pamphlet-form,  and  a  few 
volumes  of  poetry,  in  altogether  a  different  style  and  taste 
from  those  which  Hepzibah  selected  for  his  amusement. 
Small  thanks  were  due  to  the  books,  however,  if  the  girl's 
readings  were  in  any  degree  more  successful  than  her 
elderly  cousui's.     Phoebe's  voice  had  always  a  pretty 


THE  PYNCHEON  GARDEN.        169 

music  in  it,  and  conld  either  enliven  Clifford  by  its  sparkle 
and  gayety  of  tone,  or  soothe  him  by  a  contmued  flow  of 
.pebbly  and  brook -like  cadences.  But  the  fictions  —  in 
■which  the  country-girl,  unused  to  works  of  that  nature, 
often  became  deeply  absorbed  —  interested  her  strange 
auditor  very  Httle,  or  not  at  all.  Pictures  of  life,  scenes 
of  passion  or  sentiment,  wit,  humor,  and  pathos,  were  all 
thrown  away,  or  worse  than  thrown  away,  on  Chfford ; 
either  because  he  lacked  an  experience  by  which  to  test 
their  truth,  or  because  his  own  griefs  were  a  touch-stone 
of  reality  that  few  feigned  emotions  could  withstand. 
When  Phoebe  broke  into  a  peal  of  merry  laughter  at  what 
she  read,  he  would  now  and  then  laugh  for  sympathy, 
but  oftener  respond  with  a  troubled,  questioning  look.  If 
a  tear  —  a  maiden's  sunshiny  tear  over  imaginary  woe 
—  dropped  upon  some  melancholy  page,  Clifford  either 
took  it  as  a  token  of  actual  calamity,  or  else  grew  peevish, 
and  angrily  motioned  her  to  close  the  volume.  And  wise- 
ly too  !  Is  not  the  world  sad  enough,  in  genuine  earnest, 
without  making  a  pastime  of  mock-sorrows  ? 

With  poetry,  it  was  rather  better.  He  dehghted  in 
the  swell  and  subsidence  of  the  rhythm,  and  *he  happily 
recurring  rhyme.  Nor  was  Clifford  incapable  of  feeling 
the  sentiment  of  poetry,  —  not,  perhaps,  where  it  was 
highest  or  deepest,  but  where  it  was  most  flitting  and 
ethereal.  It  was  impossible  to  foretell  in  what  exquisite 
Terse  the  awakening  spell  might  lurk;  but,  on  raising 
her  eyes  from  the  page  to  Clifford's  face,  Phoebe  would 
be  made  aware,  by  the  light  breaking  through  it,  that 
a  more  delicate  intelligence  than  her  own  had  caught  a 
lambent  flame  from  what  she  read.  One  glow  of  this 
kind,  however,  was  often  the  precursor  of  gloom  for  many 
hours  afterward;  because,  when  the  glow  left  him,  he 
seemed  conscious   of  a  missing;   sense  and  power,   and 


170   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

groped  about  for  them,  as  if  a  blind  man  should  go  seek- 
ing his  lost  eyesight. 

It  pleased  him  more,  and  was  better  for  his  inward 
welfare,  that  Phoebe  should  talk,  and  make  passing  oc- 
currences vivid  to  his  mind  by  her  accompanying  descrip- 
tion and  remarks.  The  Hfe  of  the  garden  offered  topics 
enough  for  such  discourse  as  suited  Clifford  best.  He 
never  failed  to  inquire  what  flowers  had  bloomed  since 
yesterday.  His  feeling  for  flowers  was  very  exquisite, 
and  seemed  not  so  much  a  taste  as  an  emotion  ;  he  was 
fond  of  sitting  with  one  in  his  hand,  intently  observing  it, 
and  looking  from  its  petals  into  Phoebe's  face,  as  if  the 
garden  flower  were  the  sister  of  the  household  maiden. 
Not  merely  was  there  a  delight  in  the  flower's  perfume, 
or  pleasure  in  its  beautiful  form,  and  the  delicacy  or 
brightness  of  its  hue ;  but  Clifford's  enjoyment  was  ac- 
companied with  a  perception  of  life,  character,  and  indi- 
viduality, that  made  him  love  these  blossoms  of  the 
garden,  as  if  they  were  endowed  with  sentiment  and  in- 
telligence. This  affection  and  sympathy  for  flowers  is 
almost  exclusively  a  woman's  trait.  Men,  if  endowed 
with  it  by  nature,  soon  lose,  forget,  and  learn  to  despise 
it,  in  their  contact  with  coarser  things  than  flowers. 
Clifford,  too,  had  long  forgotten  it ;  but  found  it  again, 
now,  as  he  slowly  revived  from  the  chill  torpor  of  his  life. 

It  is  wonderful  how  many  pleasant  incidents  continu- 
ally came  to  pass  in  that  secluded  garden-spot,  when  once 
Phoebe  liad  set  herself  to  look  for  them.  She  had  seen 
or  heard  a  bee  there,  on  the  fi/st  day  of  her  acquaintance 
with  the  place.  And  often,  —  almost  continually,  indeed, 
—  since  then,  the  bees  kept  coming  thither,  Heaven 
knows  why,  or  by  what  pertinacious  desire  for  far-fetched 
sweets,  when,  no  doubt,  there  were  broad  clover-fields, 
and  all  kinds  of  garden  growth,  much  nearer  home  than 


THE  PYNCHEON  GARDEN.        171 

tnis.  Thither  the  bees  came,  however,  and  plunged  into 
the  squash-blossoms,  as  if  there  were  no  other  squash- 
vines  within  a  long  day's  flight,  or  as  if  the  soil  of  Hepzi- 
bah's  garden  gave  its  productions  just  the  very  quality 
which  these  laborious  little  wizards  wanted,  in  order  to 
impart  the  Hymettus  odor  to  their  whole  hive  of  New 
England  honey.  When  Clifford  heard  their  sunny,  buzz- 
ing murmur,  in  the  heart  of  the  great  yellow  blossoms, 
he  looked  about  him  with  a  joyful  sense  of  warmth,  and 
blue  sky,  and  green  grass,  and  of  God's  free  air  in  the 
whole  height  from  earth  to  heaven.  After  all,  there  need 
be  no  question  why  the  bees  came  to  that  one  green 
nook,  in  the  dusty  town.  God  sent  them  thither,  to 
gladden  our  poor  Clifford.  They  brought  the  rich  sum- 
mer with  them,  in  requital  of  a  little  honey. 

When  the  bean-vines  began  to  flower  on  the  poles^ 
there  was  one  particular  variety  which  bore  a  vivid  scar- 
let blossom.  The  daguerreotypist  had  found  these  beans 
in  a  garret,  over  one  of  the  seven  gables,  treasured  up  in 
an  old  chest  of  drawers,  by  some  horticultural  Pyncheon 
of  days  gone  by,  who,  doubtless,  meant  to  sow  them  the 
next  summer,  but  was  himself  first  sown  in  Death's  gar- 
den-ground. By  way  of  testing  whether  there  was  still  a 
living  germ  in  such  ancient  seeds,  Holgrave  had  planted 
some  of  them ;  and  the  result  of  his  experiment  was  a 
splendid  row  of  bean-vines,  clambering,  early,  to  the  full 
height  of  the  poles,  and  arraying  them,  from  top  to  bot- 
tom, in  a  spiral  profusion  of  red  blossoms.  And,  ever 
since  the  unfolding  of  the  first  bud,  a  multitude  of  hum- 
ming-birds had  been  attracted  thither.  At  times,  it 
seemed  as  if  for  every  one  of  the  hundred  blossoms  there 
was  one  of  these  tiniest  fowls  of  the  air ;  a  thumb's  big- 
ness of  burnished  plumage,  hovering  and  vibrating  about 
the  bean-poles.     It  was  with  indescribable  interest,  and 


172   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

even  more  than  cliildish  deliglit,  that  Clifford  watched  the 
hummmg-birds.  He  used  to  thrust  his  head  softly  out 
of  the  arbor,  to  see  them  the  better ;  all  the  while,  too, 
motioning  Phoebe  to  be  quiet,  and  snatching  glimpses  of 
the  smile  upon  her  face,  so  as  to  heap  his  enjoyment  up 
the  higher  with  her  sympathy.  He  had  not  merely  grown 
young ;  —  he  was  a  child  again. 

Hepzibah,  whenever  she  happened  to  witness  one  of 
these  fits  of  miniature  enthusiasm,  would  shake  her  head, 
with  a  strange  mingling  of  the  mother  and  sister,  and  of 
pleasure  and  sadness,  in  her  aspect.  She  said  that  it  had 
always  been  thus  with  Clifford,  when  the  humming-birds 
came,  —  always,  from  his  babyhood,  —  and  that  his  de- 
light in  them  had  been  one  of  the  earliest  tokens  by  which 
he  showed  his  love  for  beautiful  things.  And  it  was  a 
wonderful  coincidence,  the  good  lady  thought,  that  the 
artist  should  have  planted  these  scarlet -flowering  beans 
—  which  the  humming-birds  sought  far  and  wide,  and 
which  had  not  grown  in  the  Pyncheon  garden  before  for 
forty  years  —  on  the  very  summer  of  Clifford's  return. 

Then  would  the  tears  stand  in  poor  Hepzibah's  eyes, 
or  overflow  them  with  a  too  abundant  gush,  so  that  she 
was  fain  to  betake  herself  into  some  corner,  lest  ChfPord 
should  espy  her  agitation.  Indeed,  all  the  enjoyments  of 
this  period  were  provocative  of  tears.  Coming  so  late  as 
it  did,  it  was  a  kind  of  Indian  summer,  with  a  mist  in  its 
balmiest  sunshine,  and  decay  and  death  in  its  gaudiest 
delight.  The  more  Clifford  seemed  to  taste  the  happiness 
of  a  child,  the  sadder  was  the  difference  to  be  recognized. 
With  a  mysterious  and  terrible  Past,  which  had  annihi- 
lated his  memory,  and  a  blank  Future  before  him,  he  had 
only  this  visionary  and  impalpable  Now,  which,  if  you 
once  look  closely  at  it,  is  nothing.  He  himself,  as  was 
perceptible  by  many  symptoms,  lay  darkly  behind  Ms 


THE  PYNCHEON  GAEDEN.        173 

pleasure,  and  knew  it  to  be  a  baby -play,  which  he  was  to 
toy  and  trifle  with,  instead  of  thoroughly  believing.  Clif- 
ford  saw,  it  may  be,  in  the  mirror  of  his  deeper  conscious- 
ness, that  he  was  an  example  and  representative  of  that 
great  class  of  people  whom  an  inexplicable  Providence 
is  continually  putting  at  cross-purposes  with  the  world ; 
breaking  what  seems  its  own  promise  in  their  nature; 
withholding  their  proper  food,  and  setting  poison  before 
them  for  a  banquet ;  and  thus  —  when  it  might  so  easily, 
as  one  would  think,  have  been  adjusted  otherwise  — 
making  their  existence  a  strangeness,  a  soHtude  and  tor- 
ment. All  his  life  long,  he  had  been  learning  how  to  be 
wretched,  as  one  learns  a  foreign  tongue ;  and  now,  with 
the  lesson  thoroughly  by  heart,  he  could  with  difficulty 
comprehend  his  little  airy  happiness.  Frequently,  there 
was  a  dim  shadow  of  doubt  in  his  eyes.  "  Take  my  hand, 
Phoebe,"  he  would  say,  "  and  pinch  it  hard  with  your  little 
fingers  !  Give  me  a  rose,  that  I  may  press  its  thorns,  and 
prove  myself  awake,  by  the  sharp  touch  of  pain  !  "  Evi- 
dently, he  desired  this  prick  of  a  trifling  anguish,  in  order 
to  assure  himself,  by  that  quality  which  he  best  knew  to 
be  real,  that  the  garden,  and  the  seven  weather-beaten 
gables,  and  Hepzibah's  scowl,  and  Phoebe's  ■  smile  were 
real,  likewise.  Without  this  signet  in  his  flesh,  he  could 
have  attributed  no  more  substance  to  them  than  to  the 
empty  confusion  of  imaginary  scenes  with  which  he  had  fed 
his  spirit,  until  even  that  poor  sustenance  was  exhausted. 
The  author  needs  great  faith  in  his  reader's  sympathy ; 
else  he  must  hesitate  to  give  details  so  minute,  and  inci- 
dents apparently  so  trifling,  as  are  essential  to  make  up 
the  idea  of  this  garden-life.  It  was  the  Eden  of  a  thun- 
der-smitten Adam,  who  had  fled  for  refuge  thither  out  of 
the  same  dreary  and  perilous  wilderness  into  which  the 
original  Adam  was  expelled. 


174   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

One  of  the  available  means  of  amusement,  of  vdnch. 
Phoebe  made  the  most,  in  Clifford's  behalf,  was  that 
feathered  society,  the  hens,  a  breed  of  whom,  as  we  have 
already  said,  was  an  immemorial  heirloom  in  the  Pyn- 
cheon  family.  In  compliance  with  a  whim  of  Clifford,  as 
it  troubled  him  to  see  them  in  confinement,  they  had  been 
set  at  liberty,  and  now  roamed  at  will  about  the  garden ; 
doing  some  httle  mischief,  but  hindered  from  escape  by 
buildings,  on  three  sides,  and  the  difficult  peaks  of  a 
wooden  fence,  on  the  other.  They  spent  much  of  their 
abundant  leisure  on  the  margin  of  Maule's  well,  which 
was  haunted  by  a  kind  of  snail,  evidently  a  titbit  to  their 
palates  ;  and  the  brackish  water  itself,  however  nauseous 
to  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  so  greatly  esteemed  by  these 
fowls,  that  they  might  be  seen  tasting,  turning  up  their 
heads,  and  smacking  their  bills,  with  precisely  the  air  of 
wine-bibbers  round  a  probationary  cask.  Their  generally 
quiet,  yet  often  brisk,  and  constantly  diversified  talk,  one 
to  another,  or  sometimes  in  soliloquy,  — as  they  scratched 
worms  out  of  the  rich,  black  soil,  or  pecked  at  such  plants 
as  suited  their  taste,  —  had  such  a  domestic  tone,  that  it 
was  almost  a  wonder  why  you  could  not  establish  a  reg- 
ular interchange  of  ideas  about  household  matters,  human 
and  galUnaceous.  All  hens  are  well  worth  studying,  for 
the  piquancy  and  rich  variety  of  their  mamiers  ;  but  by 
no  possibility  can  there  have  been  other  fowls  of  such  odd 
appearance  and  deportment  as  these  ancestral  ones.  They 
probably  embodied  the  traditionary  peculiarities  of  their 
whole  line  of  progenitors,  derived  through  an  unbroken 
succession  of  eggs  ;  or  else  this  individual  Chanticleer  and 
his  two  wives  had  grown  to  be  humorists,  and  a  little  crack- 
brained  withal,  on  account  of  their  solitary  way  of  hfe, 
and  out  of  sympathy  for  Hepzibah,  their  lady-patroness. 

Queer,   indeed,   they    looked !      Chanticleer    himself, 


THE  PYNCHEON  GARDEN.        175 

though  stalking  on  two  stilt-like  legs,  with  the  dignity 
of  interminable  descent  in  all  his  gestures,  was  hardly 
bigger  than  an  ordinary  partridge ;  his  two  wives  were 
about  the  size  of  quails ;  and  as  for  the  one  chicken,  it 
looked  small  enough  to  be  still  in  the  egg,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  sufficiently  old,  withered,  wizened,  and  experi- 
enced,  to  have  been  the  founder  of  the  antiquated  race. 
Instead  of  being  the  youngest  of  the  family,  it  rather 
seemed  to  have  aggregated  into  itself  the  ages,  not  only 
of  these  living  specimens  of  the  breed,  but  of  all  its  fore- 
fathers and  foremothers,  whose  united  excellences  and 
oddities  were  squeezed  into  its  Httle  body.  Its  mother 
evidently  regarded  it  as  the  one  chicken  of  the  world, 
and  as  necessary,  in  fact,  to  the  world's  continuance,  or, 
at  any  rate,  to  the  equihbrium  of  the  present  system  of 
affairs,  whether  in  church  or  state.  No  lesser  sense  of 
the  infant  fowl's  importance  could  have  justified,  even  in 
a  mother's  eyes,  the  perseverance  with  which  she  watched 
over  its  safety,  rufiling  her  small  person  to  twice  its  proper 
size,  aud  flying  in  everybody's  face  that  so  much  as  looked 
towards  her  hopeful  progeny.  No  lower  estimate  could 
have  vindicated  the  indefatigable  zeal  with  which  she 
scratched,  and  her  unscrupulousness  in  digging  up  the 
choicest  flower  or  vegetable,  for  the  sake  of  the  fat  earth- 
worm at  its  root.  Her  nervous  cluck,  when  the  chicken 
happened  to  be  hidden  in  the  long  grass  or  under  the 
squash-leaves ;  her  gentle  croak  of  satisfaction,  while 
sure  of  it  beneath  her  wmg;  her  note  of  ill-concealed 
fear  and  obstreperous  defiance,  when  she  saw  her  arch- 
enemy, a  neighbor's  cat,  on  the  top  of  the  high  fence  ;  — • 
one  or  other  of  these  sounds  was  to  be  heard  at  almost 
every  moment  of  the  day.  By  degrees,  the  observer  came 
to  feel  nearly  as  much  interest  in  this  chicken  of  illustri- 
ous race  as  the  mother-hen  did. 


176   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Phoebe,  after  getting  ^vell  acquainted  with  the  old  hen, 
was  sometimes  permitted  to  take  the  chicken  in  her  hand, 
which  was  quite  capable  of  grasping  its  cubic  inch  or  two 
of  body.  While  she  curiously  examined  its  hereditary 
marks,  —  the  peculiar  speckle  of  its  plumage,  the  funny 
tuft  on  its  head,  and  a  knob  on  each  of  its  legs,  —  the 
little  biped,  as  she  insisted,  kept  giving  her  a  sagacious 
wink.  The  daguerreotypist  once  whispered  her  that  these 
marks  betokened  the  oddities  of  the  Pyucheon  family, 
and  that  the  chicken  itself  was  a  symbol  of  the  life  of  the 
old  house,  embodying  its  interpretation,  hkewise,  although 
an  uninteUigible  one,  as  such  clews  generally  are.  It 
was  a  feathered  riddle  ;  a  mystery  hatched  out  of  an  egg, 
and  just  as  mysterious  as  if  the  egg  had  been  addle  ! 

The  second  of  Chanticleer's  two  wives,  ever  since 
Phoebe's  arrival,  had  been  in  a  state  of  heavy  despond- 
ency, caused,  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  by  her  inability 
to  lay  an  egg.  One  day,  however,  by  her  self-important 
gait,  the  sideway  turn  of  her  head,  and  the  cock  of  her 
eye,  as  she  pried  mto  one  and  another  nook  of  the  garden, 
—  croaking  to  herself,  all  the  while,  with  inexpressible 
complacency,  —  it  was  made  evident  that  this  identical 
hen,  much  as  mankind  undervalued  her,  carried  some- 
thing about  her  person,  the  worth  of  which  was  not  to  be 
estimated  either  in  gold  or  precious  stones.  Shortly  after, 
there  was  a  prodigious  cackhng  and  gratulation  of  Chan- 
ticleer and  all  his  family,  including  the  wizened  chicken, 
who  appeared  to  understand  the  matter  quite  as  well  as 
did  his  sire,  his  mother,  or  his  aunt.  That  afternoon 
Phoebe  found  a  diminutive  egg,  —  not  in  the  regular  nest, 
it  was  far  too  precious  to  be  trusted  there,  —  but  cun- 
ningly hidden  under  the  currant-bushes,  on  some  dry 
stalks  of  last  year's  grass.  Hepzibah,  on  learning  the 
fact,  took  possession  of  the  egg  and  appropriated  it  to 


THE  PYNCHEOX  GAEDEN.        177 

Clifford's  breakfast,  on  account  of  a  certain  delicacy  of 
flavor,  for  which,  as  she  affirmed,  these  eggs  had  always 
been  famous.  Thus  unscrupulously  did  the  old  gentle- 
■woman  sacrifice  the  continuance,  perhaps,  of  an  ancient 
feathered  race,  with  no  better  end  than  to  supply  her 
brother  with  a  dainty  that  hardly  filled  the  bowl  of  a  tea- 
spoon !  It  must  have  been  in  reference  to  this  outrage 
that  Chanticleer,  the  next  day,  accompanied  by  the  be- 
reaved mother  of  the  egg,  took  his  post  in  front  of  Phoebe 
and  Clifford,  and  delivered  himself  of  a  harangue  that 
might  have  proved  as  long  as  his  own  pedigree,  but  for 
a  fit  of  merriment  on  Phoebe's  part.  Hereupon,  the  of- 
fended fowl  stalked  away  on  his  long  stilts,  and  utterly 
•withdrew  his  notice  from  Phoebe  and  the  rest  of  human 
nature,  until  she  made  her  peace  with  an  oS'ering  of  spice- 
cake,  which,  next  to  snails,  was  the  delicacy  most  in.  favor 
with  his  aristocratic  tast6. 

We  linger  too  long,  no  doubt,  beside  this  paltry  rivulet 
of  life  that  flowed  through  the  garden  of  the  Pynclreon 
House.  But  we  deem  it  pardonable  to  record  these  mean 
incidents,  and  poor  delights,  because  they  proved  so 
greatly  to  Clifford's  benefit.  They  had  the  earth-smell  in 
them,  and  contributed  to  give  him  health  and  substance. 
Some  of  his  occupations  wrought  less  desirably  upon  him. 
He  had  a  singular  propensity,  for  example,  to  hang  over 
Maule's  well,  and  look  at  the  constantly  shifting  phantas- 
magoria of  figures  produced  by  the  agitation  of  the  water 
over  the  mosaic-work  of  colored  pebbles  at  the  bottom. 
He  said  that  faces  looked  upward  to  him  there,  — beauti- 
ful faces,  arrayed  in  bewitching  smiles,  —  each  momentary 
face  so  fair  and  rosy,  and  every  smile  so  sunny,  that  he 
felt  wronged  at  its  departure,  until  the  same  flitting  witch- 
craft made  a  new  one.  But  sometimes  he  would  suddenly 
cry  out,  "  The  dark  face  gazes  at  me  !  "  and  be  miserable 


178   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  whole  day  afterwards.  Phoehe,  wlien  she  hung  over 
the  fountain  by  ClifTord's  side,  could  see  nothing  of  all 
this,  —  neither  the  beauty  nor  the  ugliness,  —  but  only 
the  colored  pebbles,  looking  as  if  the  gush  of  the  water 
shook  and  disarranged  them.  And  the  dark  face,  that  so 
troubled  Clifford,  was  no  more  than  the  shadow  thrown 
from  a  branch  of  one  of  the  damson-trees,  and  breaking 
the  inner  light  of  Maule's  well.  The  truth  was,  however, 
that  his  fancy  —  reviving  faster  than  his  will  and  judg- 
ment, and  always  stronger  than  they  —  created  shapes  of 
loveliness  that  were  symbohc  of  his  native  character,  and 
now  and  then  a  stern  and  dreadful  shape,  that  typified  his 
fate. 

On  Sundays,  after  Phcebe  had  been  at  church,  —  for 
the  girl  liad  a  church-going  conscience,  and  would  hardly 
have  been  at  ease  had  she  missed  either  prayer,  singing, 
sermon,  or  benediction,  —  after  church-time,  therefore, 
there  was,  ordinarily,  a  sober  little  festival  in  the  garden. 
In  addition  to  Chfford,  Hepzibah,  and  Phoebe,  two  guests 
made  up  the  company.  One  was  the  artist,  Holgrave, 
who,  in  spite  of  his  consociation  with  reformers,  and  his 
other  queer  and  questionable  traits,  continued  to  hold  an 
elevated  place  in  Hepzibah's  regard.  The  other,  we  are 
almost  ashamed  to  say,  was  the  venerable  Uncle  Venner, 
in  a  clean  shirt,  and  a  broadcloth  coat,  more  respectable 
than  his  ordinary  wear,  inasmuch  as  it  was  neatly  patched 
on  each  elbow,  and  might  be  called  an  entire  garment, 
except  for  a  slight  inequality  in  the  length  of  its  skirts. 
Clifford,  on  several  occasions,  had  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
old  man's  intercourse,  for  the  sake  of  his  mellow,  cheerful 
vein,  which  was  like  the  sweet  flavor  of  a  frost-bitten 
apple,  such  as  one  picks  up  under  the  tree  in  December. 
A  man  at  the  very  lowest  point  of  the  social  scale  was 
easier  and  more  agreeable  for  the  fallen  gentleman  to  en- 


THE  PYNCHEON  GARDEN.         179 

counter  than  a  person  at  any  of  the  intermediate  degrees ; 
and,  moreover,  as  CILfFord's  young  manhood  had  been 
lost,  he  was  fond  of  feeling  himself  comparatively  youth- 
ful, now,  in  apposition  with  the  patriarchal  age  of  Uncle 
Venner.  In  fact,  it  was  sometimes  observable  that  Chf- 
ford  half  wilfully  hid  from  himself  the  consciousness  of 
being  stricken  in  years,  and  cherished  visions  of  an 
earthly  future  still  before  him ;  visions,  however,  too 
indistinctly  drawn  to  be  followed  by  disappointment  — 
though,  doubtless,  by  depression  —  when  any  casual  in- 
cident or  recollection  made  him  sensible  of  the  withered 
leaf. 

So  this  oddly  composed  little  social  party  used  to  as- 
semble under  the  ruinous  arbor.  Hepzibah  —  stately  as 
ever  at  heart,  and  yielding  not  an  inch  of  her  old  gentility, 
but  resting  upon  it  so  much  the  more,  as  justifying  a 
princess-like  condescension  —  exhibited  a  not  ungraceful 
hospitality.  She  talked  kindly  to  the  vagrant  artist,  and 
took  sage  counsel  —  lady  as  she  was  —  with  the  wood- 
sawyer,  the  messenger  of  everybody's  petty  errands,  the 
patched  philosopher.  And  Uiicle  Venner,  who  had 
studied  the  world  at  street-corners,  and  at  other  posts 
equally  well  adapted  for  just  observation,  was  as  ready  to 
give  out  his  wisdom  as  a  town-pump  to  give  water. 

"  Miss  Hepzibah,  ma'am,"  said  he  once,  after  they  had 
all  been  cheerful  together,  "I  really  enjoy  these  quiet 
httle  meetings,  of  a  Sabbath  afternoon.  They  are  very 
much  like  what  I  expect  to  have,  after  I  retire  to  my 
farm  !  " 

"  Uncle  Yenner,"  observed  Clifford,  in  a  drowsy,  in- 
ward tone,  "is  always  talking  about  his  farm.  But  I 
have  a  better  scheme  for  him,  by  and  by.  We  shall 
see  ! " 

"Ah,  Mr.   Clifford    Pyncheon!"    said    the  man  of 


180   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

patches,  "you  may  scheme  for  me  as  much  as  you 
please ;  but  I  'm  not  going  to  give  up  this  one  scheme 
of  my  own,  even  if  I  never  bring  it  really  to  pass.  It 
does  seem  to  me  that  men  make  a  wonderful  mistake  in 
trying  to  heap  up  property  upon  property.  If  I  had 
done  so,  I  should  feel  as  if  Providence  was  not  bound  to 
take  care  of  me ;  and,  at  all  events,  the  city  would  n't 
be  !  I  'm  one  of  those  people  who  think  that  infinity  is 
big  enough  for  us  all,  — and  eternity  long  enough." 

"  Why,  so  they  are,  Uncle  Venner,"  remarked  Phoebe, 
after  a  pause;  for  she  had  been  trying  to  fathom  the 
profundity  and  appositeness  of  this  concluding  apothegm. 
"  But,  for  this  short  life  of  ours,  one  would  like  a  house 
and  a  moderate  garden-spot  of  one's  own." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  the  daguerreotypist,  smihng, 
"  that  Uncle  Venner  has  the  principles  of  Pourier  at  the 
bottom  of  his  wisdom ;  only  they  have  not  quite  so  much 
distinctness,  in  his  mind,  as  in  that  of  the  systematizing 
Prenchraan." 

"  Come,  Phoebe,"  said  Hepzibah,  "  it  is  time  to  bring 
the  currants." 

And  then,  while  the  yellow  richness  of  the  declining 
sunshine  still  fell  into  the  open  space  of  the  garden, 
Phoebe  brought  out  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  a  china  bowl  of 
currants,  freshly  gathered  from  the  bushes,  and  crushed 
with  sugar.  These,  with  water,  —  but  not  from  the 
fountain  of  ill  omen,  close  at  hand,  -^  constituted  all  the 
entertainment.  Meanwhile,  Holgrave  took  some  pains 
to  estabhsh  an  intercourse  with  Clifford,  actuated,  it 
might  seem,  entirely  by  an  impulse  of  kindliness,  in 
order  that  the  present  hour  might  be  cheerfuUer  than 
most  which  the  poor  recluse  had  spent,  or  was  destined 
yet  to  spend.  Nevertheless,  in  the  artist's  deep,  thought- 
ful, all-observant  eyes,  there  was,  now  and  then,  an  ex- 


THE  PYXCHEOX  GARDEN.        181 

pression,  not  sinister,  but  questionable ;  as  if  he  had 
some  other  interest  in  the  scene  than  a  stranger,  a 
youthful  and  unconnected  adventurer,  might  be  sup- 
posed to  have.  With  great  mobility  of  outward  mood, 
however,  he  applied  himself  to  the  task  of  enlivening  the 
party ;  and  with  so  much  success,  that  even  dark-hued 
Hepzibah  threw  off  one  tint  of  melancholy,  and  made 
what  shift  she  could  with  the  remaining  portion.  Phoebe 
said  to  herself,  —  "  How  pleasant  he  can  be  !  "  As  for 
Uncle  Yenner,  as  a  mark  of  friendship  and  approbation, 
he  readily  consented  to  afford  the  young  man  his  coun- 
tenance in  the  way  of  his  profession,  —  not  metaphori- 
cally, be  it  understood,  but  literally,  by  allowing  a  da- 
guerreotype of  his  face,  so  familiar  to  the  town,  to  be 
exhibited  at  the  entrance  of  Holgrave's  studio. 

Clifford,  as  the  company  partook  of  their  little  ban- 
quet, grew  to  be  the  gayest  of  them  all.  Either  it  was 
one  of  those  up-quivering  flashes  of  the  spiiit,  to  which 
minds  in  an  abnormal  state  are  Hable,  or  else  the  artist 
had  subtly  touched  some  chord  that  made  musical  vibra- 
tion. Indeed,  what  with  the  pleasant  summer  evening, 
and  the  sympathy  of  this  little  cii-cle  of  not  unkindly 
souls,  it  was  perhaps  natural  that  a  character  so  sus- 
ceptible as  Clifford's  should  become  animated,  and  show 
itself  readily  responsive  to  what  was  said  around  him. 
But  he  gave  out  his  own  thoughts,  likewise,  Avith  an  airy 
and  fanciful  glow;  so  that  they  glistened,  as  it  were, 
through  the  arbor,  and  made  their  escape  among  the 
interstices  of  the  foliage.  He  had  been  as  cheerful,  no 
doubt,  while  alone  with  Phoebe,  but  never  with  such 
tokens  of  acute,  although  partial  intelligence. 

But,  as  the  sunHght  left  the  peaks  of  the  Seven  Gables, 
so  did  the  excitement  fade  out  of  Clifford's  eyes.  He 
gazed  vaguely  and  mournfully  about  him,  as  if  he  missed 


182   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

sometliing  precious,  and  missed  it  the  more  drearily  foi 
not  knowing  precisely  -what  it  was. 

"  I  want  niY  happiness ! "  at  last  he  murmured, 
hoarsely  and  indistinctly,  hardly  shaping  out  the  words. 
*'  Many,  many  years  have  I  waited  for  it !  It  is  late ! 
It  is  late  !     I  want  my  happiness ! '"' 

Alas,  poor  CHfford !  You  are  old,  and  worn  with 
troubles  that  ought  never  to  have  befallen  you.  You  are 
partly  crazy,  and  partly  imbecile;  a  ruin,  a  failure,  as 
almost  everybody  is,  —  though  some  in  less  degree,  or 
less  perceptibly,  than  their  fellows.  Tate  has  no  happi- 
ness in  store  for  you ;  unless  your  quiet  home  in  the  old 
family  residence  Mith  the  faithful  Hepzibah,  and  your 
long  summer  afternoons  with  Phoebe,  and  these  Sabbath 
festivals  with  Tucle  Tenner  and  the  daguerreotypist, 
deserve  to  be  called  happiness  I  T\liy  not  ?  If  not  the 
thing  itself,  it  is  marvellously  like  it,  and  the  more  so 
for  that  ethereal  and  intangible  quahty  which  causes  it 
aU  to  vanish,  at  too  close  an  introspection.  Take  it, 
therefore,  while  you  may !  Murmur  not,  —  question 
not,  —  but  make  the  most  of  it ! 


XI. 


THE  ARCHED  WINDOW. 


ROM  the  inertness,  or  what  we  may  term  the 
vegetative  character,  of  his  ordinary  mood,  Chf- 
ibrd  would  perhaps  have  been  content  to  spend 
one  day  after  another,  interminably,  —  or,  at  least, 
throughout  the  summer-time,  —  in  just  the  kind  of  life 
described  in  the  preceding  pages.  Fancying,  however, 
that  it  might  be  for  his  benefit  occasionally  to  diversify 
the  scene,  Phoebe  sometimes  suggested  that  he  should 
look  out  upon  the  life  of  the  street.  For  this  purpose, 
they  used  to  mount  the  staircase  together,  to  the  second 
story  of  the  house,  where,  at  the  termination  of  a  wide 
entry,  there  was  an  arched  window  of  unconmionly  large 
dimensions,  shaded  by  a  pair  of  curtains.  It  opened 
above  the  porch,  where  there  had  formerly  been  a  bal- 
cony, the  balustrade  of  which  had  long  since  gone  to 
decay,  and  been  removed.  At  this  arched  window, 
throwing  it  open,  but  keeping  himself  in  comparative 
obscurity  by  means  of  the  curtain,  CUfford  had  an  op- 
portunity of  witnessing  such  a  portion  of  the  great 
world's  movement  as  might  be  supposed  to  roll  through 
one  of  the  retired  streets  of  a  not  very  populous  city. 
But  he  and  Phoebe  made  a  sight  as  well  worth  seeing  a& 


184   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

any  that  the  city  could  exhibit.  The  pale,  gray,  childish, 
aged,  melaucholy,  yet  often  simply  cheerful,  and  some- 
times delicately  inteUigent  aspect  of  Clifford,  peering 
from  behind  the  faded  crimson  of  the  curtain,  —  watch- 
ing the  monotony  of  every-day  occurrences  with  a  kmd  of 
inconsequential  interest  and  earnestness,  and,  at  every 
petty  throb  of  his  sensibility,  turning  for  sympathy  to 
the  eyes  of  the  bright  young  girl ! 

If  once  he  were  fairly  seated  at  the  window,  even  Pyn- 
cheon  Street  would  hardly  be  so  dull  and  lonely  but 
that,  somewhere  or  other  along  its  extent,  Clifford  might 
discover  matter  to  occupy  his  eye,  and  titillate,  if  not 
engross,  his  observation.  Thmgs  famihar  to  the  young- 
est child  that  had  begun  its  outlook  at  existence  seemed 
strange  to  him.  A  cab ;  an  omnibus,  with  its  populous 
interior,  dropping  here  and  there  a  passenger,  and  pick- 
ing up  another,  and  thus  typifying  that  vast  rollmg 
vehicle,  the  world,  the  end  of  whose  journey  is  every- 
where and  nowhere ;  —  these  objects  he  followed  eagerly 
with  his  eyes,  but  forgot  them,  before  the  dust  raised  by 
the  horses  and  M^heels  had  settled  along  then*  track.  As 
regarded  novelties  (among  which  cabs  and  omnibuses 
were  to  be  reckoned),  his  mind  appeared  to  have  lost  its 
proper  gripe  and  retentiveness.  Twice  or  thrice,  for  ex- 
ample, during  the  sunny  hours  of  the  day,  a  water-cart 
went  along  by  the  Pyncheon  House,  leaving  a  broad 
wake  of  moistened  earth,  instead  of  the  white  dust  that 
had  risen  at  a  lady's  lightest  footfall ;  it  was  like  a  sum- 
mer shower,  which  the  city  authorities  had  caught  and 
tamed,  and  compelled  it  into  the  commonest  routine  of 
their  convenience.  With  the  water-cart  Clifford  could 
never  grow  famihar ;  it  always  affected  him  with  just  the 
same  surprise  as  at  first.  His  mind  took  an  apparently 
sharp  impression  from  it,  but  lost  the  recollection  of  this 


THE    AB-CHED   WINDOW.  185 

perambalatory  shower,  before  its  next  reappearance,  as 
completely  as  did  the  street  itself,  along  which  the  heat 
so  quickly  strewed  white  dust  again.  It  was  the  same, 
with  the  railroad.  Clifford  could  hear  the  obstreperous 
howl  of  the  steam-devil,  and,  by  leaning  a  little  way  from 
the  arched  window,  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  trains 
of  cars,  flashing  a  brief  transit  across  the  extremity  of 
the  street.  The  idea  of  terrible  energy,  thus  forced  upon 
him,  was  new  at  every  recurrence,  and  seemed  to  affect 
hirn  as  disagreeably,  and  with  almost  as  much  surprise, 
the  hundredth  time  as  the  first. 

Nothing  gives  a  sadder  sense  of  decay  than  this  loss 
or  suspension  of  the  power  to  deal  with  unaccustomed 
things,  and  to  keep  up  with  the  swiftness  of  the  passing 
moment.  It  can  merely  be  a  suspended  animation ;  for, 
were  the  power  actually  to  perish,  there  would  be  little 
use  of  immortality.  We  are  less  than  ghosts,  for  the 
time  being,  whenever  this  calamity  befalls  us. 

Clifford  was  indeed  the  most  inveterate  of  conserva- 
tives. All  the  antique  fashions  of  the  street  were  dear 
to  him ;  even  such  as  were  characterized  by  a  rudeness 
that  would  naturally  have  annoyed  his  fastidious  senses. 
He  loved  the  old  rumbling  and  jolting  carts,  the  former 
track  of  which  he  still  found  in  his  long-buried  remem- 
brance, as  the  observer  of  to-day  finds  the  wheel-tracks 
of  ancient  vehicles,  in  Herculaneum.  The  butcher's  cart, 
with  its  snowy  canopy,  was  an  acceptable  object ;  so  was 
the  fish-cart,  heralded  by  its  horn ;  so,  likewise,  was  the 
countryman's  cart  of  vegetables,  plodding  from  door  to 
door,  with  long  pauses  of  the  patient  horse,  while  his 
owner  drove  a  trade  in  turnips,  carrots,  summer-squashes, 
string-beans,  green  peas,  and  new  potatoes,  with  half  the 
housewives  of  the  neighborhood.  The  baker's  cart,  with 
the  harsh  music  of  its  bells,  had  a  pleasant  effect  on  Ciif- 


186   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

ford,  because,  as  few  things  else  did,  it  jingled  the  very 
dissonance  of  yore.  One  afternoon,  a  scissor-grinder 
chanced  to  set  his  wheel  a-gomg  under  the  Pyncheou 
Elm,  and  just  in  front  of  the  arched  window.  Children 
came  rumiing  with  their  mothers'  scissors,  or  the  carving- 
knife,  or  the  paternal  razor,  or  anything  else  that  lacked 
an  edge  (except,  indeed,  poor  Clifford's  wits),  that  the 
grinder  might  apply  the  article  to  his  magic  wheel,  and 
give  it  back  as  good  as  new.  Round  went  the  busily^ 
revolving  machinery,  kept  in  motion  by  the  scissor-grind- 
er's  foot,  and  wore  away  the  hard  steel  against  the  hard 
stone,  whence  issued  an  intense  and  spiteful  prolongation 
of  a  hiss,  as  fierce  as  those  emitted  by  Satan  and  his  com- 
peers in  Pandemonium,  though  squeezed  into  smaller 
compass.  It  was  an  ugly,  little,  venomous  sei-pent  of  a 
noise,  as  ever  did  petty  violence  to  human  ears.  But 
Clifford  listened  with  rapturous  delight.  The  sound, 
however  disagreeable,  had  very  brisk  life  in  it,  and,  to- 
gether with  the  circle  of  curious  children  watching  the 
revolutions  of  the  wheel,  appeared  to  give  him  a  more 
vivid  sense  of  active,  bustling,  and  sunshiny  existence 
fiian  he  had  attained  in  almost  any  other  way.  Never- 
theless, its  charm  lay  chiefly  in  the  past ;  for  the  scissor- 
grinder's  wheel  had  hissed  in  his  childish  ears. 

He  sometimes  made  doleful  complaint  that  there  were 
no  stage-coaches,  nowadays.  And  he  asked,  in  an  in- 
jured tone,  what  had  become  of  all  those  old  square-top 
chaises,  with  wings  sticking  out  on  either  side,  that  used 
to  be  drawn  by  a  plough-horse,  and  driven  by  a  farmer's 
wife  and  daughter,  peddling  whortleberries  and  black- 
berries, about  the  town.  Their  disappearance  made  him 
doubt,  he  said,  whether  the  berries  had  not  left  off  grow- 
ing in  the  broad  pastures  and  along  the  shady  country 
lanes. 


THE   ARCHED   WINDOW.  187 

But  anything  that  appealed  to  the  sense  of  beauty,  in 
however  humble  a  way,  did  not  require  to  be  recom- 
mended by  these  old  associations.  This  was  observable 
when  one  of  those  Italian  boys  (who  are  rather  a  modern 
feature  of  our  streets)  came  along  with  his  barrel-organ, 
and  stopped  under  the  wide  and  cool  shadows  of  the  ehn. 
With  his  quick  professional  eye,  he  took  note  of  the  two 
faces  watching  him  from  the  arched  window,  and,  open- 
ing  his  instrument,  began  to  scatter  its  melodies  abroad. 
He  had  a  monkey  on  his  shoulder,  dressed  in  a  Highland 
plaid ;  and,  to  complete  the  sum  of  splendid  attractions 
wherewith  he  presented  himself  to  the  pubHc,  there  was 
a  company  of  little  figures,  whose  sphere  and  habitation 
was  in  the  mahogany  case  of  his  organ,  and  whose  princi- 
ple of  life  was  the  music,  which  the  Italian  made  it  his 
business  to  grind  out.  In  all  their  variety  of  occupation, 
—  the  cobbler,  the  blacksmith,  the  soldier,  the  lady  with 
her  fan,  the  toper  with  his  bottle,  the  milkmaid  sitting 
by  her  cow,  —  this  fortunate  little  society  might  truly  be 
said  to  enjoy  a  harmonious  existence,  and  to  make  Hfe 
literally  a  dance.  The  Italian  turned  a  crank  ;  and,  be- 
hold !  eveiy  one  of  these  small  individuals  started  into 
the  most  curious  vivacity.  The  cobbler  wrought  upon 
a  shoe;  the  blacksmith  hammered  his  iron;  the  soldier 
waved  his  glittering  blade  ;  the  lady  raised  a  tiny  breeze 
with  her  fan ;  the  jolly  toper  swigged  lustily  at  his  bot- 
tle; a  scholar  opened  his  book,  with  eager  thirst  for 
knowledge,  and  turned  his  head  to  and  fro  along  the 
page ;  the  milkmaid  energetically  drained  her  cow ;  and 
a  miser  counted  gold  into  his  strong-box ;  —  all  at  the  same 
turning  of  a  crank.  Yes ;  and,  moved  by  the  self-same 
impulse,  a  lover  saluted  his  mistress  on  her  Hps  !  Possi- 
bly, some  cynic,  at  once  merry  and  bitter,  had  desired  to 
signify,  in  this  pantomimic  scene,  that  we  mortals,  what- 


188   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

ever  our  business  or  amusemeut,  —  however  serious,  how- 
ever triiliug,  —  all  dance  to  one  identical  tune,  and,  in 
spite  of  our  ridiculous  activity,  bring  nothing  finally  to 
pass.  Tor  the  most  remarkable  aspect  of  the  affair  was, 
that,  at  the  cessation  of  the  music,  everybody  was  petri- 
fied, at  once,  from  the  most  extravagant  life  into  a  dead 
torpor.  Neither  was  the  cobbler's  shoe  finished,  nor  the 
blacksmith's  iron  shaped  out ;  nor  was  there  a  drop  less 
of  brandy  in  the  toper's  bottle,  nor  a  drop  more  of  milk 
in  the  milkmaid's  pail,  nor  one  additional  coin  in  the 
miser's  strong-box,  nor  was  the  scholar  a  page  deeper  in 
his  book.  All  were  precisely  in  the  same  condition  as 
before  they  made  themselves  so  ridiculous  by  their  haste 
to  toil,  to  enjoy,  to  accumulate  gold,  and  to  become  wise. 
Saddest  of  all,  moreover,  the  lover  was  none  the  happier 
for  the  maiden's  granted  kiss  !  But,  rather  than  swallow 
this  last  too  acrid  ingredient,  we  reject  the  whole  moral 
of  the  show. 

The  monkey,  meanwhile,  with  a  thick  tail  curling  out 
into  preposterous  prolixity  from  beneath  his  tartans,  took 
his  station  at  the  Itahan's  feet.  He  turned  a  wrinkled 
and  abominable  little  visage  to  every  passer-by,  and  to 
the  circle  of  children  that  soon  gathered  round,  and  to 
Hepzibah's  shop-door,  and  upward  to  the  arched  window, 
whence  Phcebe  and  t^iifford  were  looking  down.  Every 
moment,  also,  he  took  off  his  Highland  bonnet,  and  per- 
formed a  bow  and  scrape.  Sometimes,  moreover,  he 
made  personal  appUcation  to  individuals,  holding  out  his 
small  black  palm,  and  otherwise  plainly  signifying  his 
excessive  desire  for  whatever  filthy  lucre  might  happen 
to  be  in  anybody's  pocket.  The  mean  and  low,  yet 
strangely  man-like  expression  of  his  wilted  countenance ; 
the  pr}dng  and  crafty  glance,  that  showed  km  ready  to 
gripe  at  every  miserable  advantage ;  his  enormous  tail 


THE  ^ARCHED  WINDOW.  189 

(too  enormous  to  be  decently  concealed  under  his  gabar- 
dine), and  the  deviltry  of  nature  which  it  betokened; — • 
take  this  monkey  just  as  he  was,  in  short,  and  you  could 
desire  no  better  image  of  the  Mammon  of  copper  coin, 
symbolizing  the  grossest  form  of  the  love  of  money. 
Neither  was  there  any  possibility  of  satisfying  the  cov- 
etous little  devil.  Phoebe  threw  down  a  whole  handful 
of  cents,  which  he  picked  up  with  joyless  eagerness, 
handed  them  over  to  the  Italian  for  safe-keeping,  and 
immediately  recommenced  a  series  of  pantomimic  peti- 
tions for  more. 

Doubtless,  more  than  one  New-Englander  —  or,  let 
him  be  of  what  country  he  might,  it  is  as  likely  to  be  the 
case  —  passed  by,  and  threw  a  look  at  the  monkey,  and 
went  on,  without  imagining  how  nearly  his  own  moral 
condition  was  here  exemplified.  CHfFord,  however,  was 
a  being  of  another  order.  He  had  taken  childish  delight 
in  the  music,  and  smiled,  too,  at  the  figures  which  it  set 
in  motion.  But,  after  looking  a  while  at  the  long-tailed 
imp,  he  was  so  shocked  by  his  horrible  ugliness,  spiritual 
as  well  as  physical,  that  he  actually  began  to  shed  tears ; 
a  weakness  which  men  of  merely  delicate  endowments, 
and  destitute  of  the  fiercer,  deeper,  and  more  tragic  power 
of  laughter,  can  hardly  avoid,  when  the  worst  and  mean- 
est aspect  of  life  happens  to  be  presented  to  them, 

Pyncheou  Street  was  sometimes  enlivened  by  spectacles 
of  more  imposing  pretensions  than  the  above,  and  which 
brought  the  multitude  along  with  them.  With  a  shiver- 
ing repugnance  at  the  idea  of  personal  contact  with  the 
world,  a  powerful  impulse  still  seized  on  Clifford,  when- 
ever the  rush  and  roar  of  the  human  tide  grew  strongly 
audible  to  him.  This  was  made  evident,  one  day,  when 
a  political  procession,  with  hundreds  of  flaunting  banners, 
and  drums,  fifes,  clarions,  and  cymbals,   reverberating 


190   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

between  the  roTvs  of  buildings,  marched  all  through 
town,  and  trailed  its  length  of  trampling  footsteps,  and 
most  infrequent  uproar,  past  the  ordinarily  quiet  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables.  As  a  mere  object  of  sight,  nothing 
is  more  deficient  in  picturesque  features  than  a  procession 
seen  in  its  passage  through  narrow  streets.  The  spec- 
tator feels  it  to  be  fool's  play,  when  he  can  distinguish 
the  tedious  commonplace  of  each  man's  visage,  with  the 
perspiration  and  weary  self-importance  on  it,  and  the 
very  cut  of  his  pantaloons,  and  the  stiffness  or  laxity  of 
his  shirt -collar,  and  the  dust  on  the  back  of  his  black 
coat.  In  order  to  become  majestic,  it  should  be  viewed 
from  some  vantage-point,  as  it  rolls  its  slow  and  long 
array  through  the  centre  of  a  wide  plain,  or  the  stateUest 
public  square  of  a  city ;  for  then,  by  its  remoteness,  it 
melts  all  the  petty  personahties,  of  which  it  is  made  up, 
into  one  broad  mass  of  existence,  —  one  great  life,  —  one 
collected  body  of  mankind,  with  a  vast,  homogeneous 
spirit  animating  it.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  an  im- 
pressible person,  standing  alone  over  the  brink  of  one  of 
these  processions,  should  behold  it,  not  in  its  atoms,  but 
in  its  aggregate,  —  as  a  mighty  river  of  life,  massive  in 
its  tide,  and  black  with  mystery,  and,  out  of  its  depths, 
calling  to  the  kindred  depth  within  him,  —  then  the  con- 
tiguity would  add  to  the  effect.  It  might  so  fascinate 
him  that  he  would  hardly  be  restrained  from  plunging 
into  the  surging  stream  of  human  sympathies. 

So  it  proved  with  Clifford.  He  shuddered ;  he  grew 
pale ;  he  threw  an  appealing  look  at  Hepzibah  and 
Phoebe,  who  were  with  him  at  the  window.  They  com- 
prehended nothing  of  his  emotions,  and  supposed  him 
merely  disturbed  by  the  unaccustomed  tumult.  At  last, 
with  tremulous  limbs,  he  started  up,  set  his  foot  on  the 
■window-siU,  and,  in  an  instant  more,  would  have  been  ia 


THE    APvCHED    WINDOW.  191 

the  unguarded  balcony.  As  it  was,  the  whole  procession 
might  have  seen  him,  a  wild,  haggard  figure,  his  gray 
locks  floating  in  the  wind  that  waved  their  banners ;  a 
lonely  being,  estranged  from  his  race,  but  now  feehng 
himself  man  again,  by  virtue  of  the  irrepressible  instinct 
that  possessed  him.  Had  Clifford  attained  the  balcony, 
he  would  probably  have  leaped  into  the  street;  but 
whether  impelled  by  the  species  of  terror  that  sometimes 
urges  its  victim  over  the  very  precipice  which  he  shrinks 
from,  or  by  a  natural  magnetism,  tending  towards  the 
great  centre  of  humanity,  it  were  not  easy  to  decide. 
Both  impulses  might  have  wrought  on  him  at  once. 

But  his  companions,  affrighted  by  his  gesture,  —  which 
was  that  of  a  man  hurried  away,  in  spite  of  himself,  — 
seized  Clifford's  garment  and  held  him  back.  Hepzi- 
bah  shrieked.  Phoebe,  to  whom  all  extravagance  was  a 
horror,  burst  into  sobs  and  tears. 

"  Clifford,  Clifford  !  are  you  crazy  ?  "  cried  his  sister. 

"I  hardly  know,  Hepzibah,"  said  Chfford,  drawing  a 
long  breath.  "Eear  nothing, — it  is  over  now,  —  but 
had  I  taken  that  plunge,  and  survived  it,  methinks  it 
would  have  made  me  another  man !  " 

Possibly,  in  some  sense,  Clifford  may  have  been  right. 
He  needed  a  shock;  or  perhaps  he  required  to  take  a 
deep,  deep  plunge  into  the  ocean  of  human  hfe,  and  to 
sink  down  and  be  covered  by  its  profoundness,  and  then 
to  emerge,  sobered,  invigorated,  restored  to  the  world 
and  to  himself.  Perhaps,  again,  he  required  nothing  less 
than  the  great  final  remedy,  —  death  I 

A  similar  yearning  to  renew  the  broken  links  of  broth- 
erhood with  his  kind  sometimes  showed  itself  in  a  milder 
form;  and  once  it  was  made  beautiful  by  the  religion 
that  lay  even  deeper  than  itself.  In  the  incident  now 
to  be  sketched,  there  was  a  touching  recognition,  on 


192   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Clifford's  part,  of  God's  care  and  love  towards  him, — 
towards  this  poor,  forsaken  man,  who,  if  any  mortal 
could,  might  have  been  pardoned  for  regarding  himself 
as  thrown  aside,  forgotten,  and  left  to  be  the  sport  of 
some  fiend,  whose  playfulness  was  an  ecstasy  of  mis- 
chief. 

It  was  the  Sabbath  morning;  one  of  those  bright, 
calm  Sabbaths,  with  its  own  hallowed  atmosphere,  when 
Heaven  seems  to  diffuse  itself  over  the  earth's  face  in 
a  solemn  smile,  no  less  sweet  than  solemn.  On  such  a 
Sabbath  morn,  were  we  pure  enough  to  be  its  medium, 
we  should  be  conscious  of  the  earth's  natural  worship 
ascending  through  our  frames,  on  whatever  spot  of 
ground  we  stood.  The  church-bells,  with  various  tones, 
but  all  in  harmony,  were  calling  out,  and  responding  to 
one  another,  —  "  It  is  the  Sabbath !  —  The  Sabbath  !  — 
Yea ;  the  Sabbath  !  "  —  and  over  the  whole  city  the  bells 
scattered  the  blessed  sounds,  now  slowly,  now  with  live- 
lier joy,  now  one  bell  alone,  now  all  the  bells  together, 
crying  earnestly,  —  "It  is  the  Sabbath!"  and  flinging 
their  accents  afar  off,  to  melt  into  the  air,  and  pervade  it 
with  the  holy  word.  The  air,  with  God's  sweetest  and 
tenderest  sunshine  in  it,  was  meet  for  mankind  to  breathe 
into  their  hearts,  and  send  it  forth  again  as  the  utterance 
of  prayer. 

Clifford  sat  at  the  window,  with  Hepzibah,  watching 
the  neighbors  as  they  stepped  into  the  street.  All  of 
them,  however  unspiritual  on  other  days,  were  transfig- 
ured by  the  Sabbath  influence ;  so  that  their  very  gar- 
ments —  whether  it  were  an  old  man's  decent  coat  well 
brushed  for  the  thousandth  time,  or  a  little  boy's  first  sack 
and  trousers,  finished  yesterday  by  his  mother's  needle  — 
had  somewhat  of  the  quality  of  ascension-robes.  Forth, 
likewise,   from  the   portal  of  the  old   house,   stepped 


THE    ARCHED    WINDOW.  193 

Phoebe,  putting  up  ber  small  green  sunshade,  and  throw- 
ing upward  a  glance  and  smile  of  parting  kindness  to  the 
faces  at  the  arched  window.  In  her  aspect  there  was 
a  familiar  gladness,  and  a  holiness  that  you  could  play 
with,  and  yet  reverence  it  as  much  as  ever.  She  was 
like  a  prayer,  offered  up  in  the  homeliest  beauty  of  one's 
mother-tongue.  Fresh  was  Phoebe,  moreover,  and  airy 
and  sweet  in  her  apparel ;  as  if  nothing  that  she  wore  — 
neither  her  gown,  nor  her  small  straw  bonnet,  nor  her 
little  kerchief,  any  more  than  her  snowy  stockings  — had 
ever  been  put  on  before  ;  or,  if  worn,  were  all  the  fresher 
for  it,  and  with  a  fragrance  as  if  they  had  lain  among  the 
rosebuds. 

The  girl  waved  her  hand  to  Hepzibah  and  Clifford,  and 
went  up  the  street ;  a  religion  in  herself,  warm,  simple, 
true,  with  a  substance  that  could  walk  on  earth,  and  a 
spirit  that  was  capable  of  heaven. 

"  Hepzibah,"  asked  Clifford,  after  watching  Phoebe  to 
the  corner,  "  do  you  never  go  to  church  ?  " 

"  No,  Clifford !  "  she  replied,  —  "  not  these  many, 
many  years ! " 

"  Were  I  to  be  there,"  he  rejoined,  "it  seems  to  me 
that  I  could  pray  once  more,  when  so  many  human  souls 
were  praying  all  around  me  !  " 

She  looked  into  Clifford's  face,  and  beheld  there  a  soft 
natural  effusion ;  for  his  heart  gushed  out,  as  it  were, 
and  ran  over  at  his  eyes,  in  delightful  reverence  for  God, 
and  kindly  affection  for  his  human  brethren.  The  emo- 
tion communicated  itself  to  Hepzibah.  She  yearned  to 
take  him  by  the  hand,  and  go  and  kneel  down,  they  two 
together, — both  so  long  separate  from  the  world,  and, 
as  she  now  recognized,  scarcely  friends  with  Him  above, 
—  to  kneel  down  among  the  people,  and  be  reconciled  to 
God  and  man  at  once. 


194   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"Dear  brotlier/'  said  she,  earnestly,  "let  us  go !  We 
belong  nowhere.  We  have  not  a  foot  of  space  in  any 
church  to  kneel  upon ;  but  let  us  go  to  some  place  of 
worship,  even  if  we  stand  in  the  broad  aisle.  Poor  and 
forsaken  as  we  are,  some  pew-door  will  be  opened 
to  us  !  " 

So  Hepzibah  and  her  brother  made  themselves  ready, 
—  as  ready  as  they  could,  in  the  best  of  their  old-fash- 
ioned garments,  which  had  hung  on  pegs,  or  been  laid 
away  in  trunks,  so  long  that  the  dampness  and  mouldy 
smell  of  the  past  was  on  them,  — made  themselves  ready, 
in  their  faded  bettermost,  to  go  to  church.  They  descend- 
ed the  staircase  together,  —  gaunt,  sallow  Hepzibah,  and 
pale,  emaciated,  age-stricken  CUfford  !  They  pulled  open 
the  front  door,  and  stepped  across  the  threshold,  and  felt, 
both  of  them,  as  if  they  were  standing  in  the  presence  of 
the  whole  world,  and  with  mankind's  great  and  terrible 
eye  on  them  alone.  The  eye  of  their  Father  seemed  to 
be  withdrawn,  and  gave  them  no  encouragement.  The 
warm  sunny  air  of  the  street  made  them  shiver.  Their 
hearts  quaked  within  them,  at  the  idea  of  takmg  one  step 
farther. 

"  It  cannot  be,  Hepzibah  !  —  it  is  too  late,"  said  Clif- 
ford, with  deep  sadness.  "  We  are  ghosts  !  We  have 
no  right  among  human  beings,  —  no  right  anywhere,  but 
in  this  old  house,  which  has  a  curse  on  it,  and  which, 
therefore,  we  are  doomed  to  haunt !  And,  besides,"  he 
continued,  with  a  fastidious  sensibility,  inalienably  char- 
acteristic of  the  man,  "  it  would  not  be  fit  nor  beautiful 
to  go  !  It  is  an  ugly  thought,  that  I  should  be  frightful 
to  my  fellow-beings,  and  that  children  would  cling  to 
their  mothers'  gowns,  at  sight  of  me !  " 

They  shrank  back  into  the  dusky  passage-way,  and 
closed  the  door.    But,  going  up  the  staircase  again,  they 


THE   ARCHED   WINDOW.  195 

found  the  "whole  interior  of  the  house  tenfold  more  dis- 
mal, and  the  air  closer  and  heavier,  for  the  glimpse  and 
breath  of  freedom  which  they  had  just  snatched.  They 
could  not  flee ;  their  jailer  had  but  left  the  door  ajar, 
in  mockery,  and  stood  behind  it,  to  watch  them  steal- 
ing out.  At  the  threshold,  they  felt  his  pitiless  gripe 
upon  them.  Eor,  what  other  dungeon  is  so  dark  as 
one's  own  heart !  What  jailer  so  inexorable  as  one's 
self! 

But  it  would  be  no  fair  picture  of  Clifford's  state  of 
mind,  were  we  to  represent  him  as  continually  or  prevail- 
ingly wretched.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  no  other 
man  in  the  city,  we  are  bold  to  affirm,  of  so  much  as  half 
his  years,  who  enjoyed  so  many  lightsome  and  griefless 
moments  as  himself.  He  had  no  burden  of  care  upon 
him ;  there  were  none  of  those  questions  and  contingen- 
cies with  the  future  to  be  settled,  which  wear  away  all 
other  Uves,  and  render  them  not  worth  having  by  the  very 
process  of  providmg  for  their  support.  In  this  respect, 
he  was  a  child,  —  a  child  for  the  whole  term  of  his  exist- 
ence, be  it  long  or  short.  Indeed,  his  life  seemed  to  be 
standing  still  at  a  period  little  in  advance  of  childhood, 
and  to  cluster  all  his  reminiscences  about  that  epoch ; 
just  as,  after  the  torpor  of  a  heavy  blow,  the  sufferer's 
reviving  consciousness  goes  back  to  a  moment  considera- 
bly behind  the  accident  that  stupefied  him.  He  some- 
times told  Phoebe  and  Hepzibah  his  dreams,  in  which  he 
invariably  })layed  the  part  of  a  child,  or  a  very  young 
man.  So  vivid  were  they,  in  his  relation  of  them,  that 
he  once  held  a  dispute  with  his  sister  as  to  the  particular 
figure  or  print  of  a  chintz  morning-dress,  which  he  had 
seen  their  mother  wear,  in  the  dream  of  the  preceding 
night.  Hepzibah,  piquing  herself  on  a  woman's  accu- 
racy in  such  matters,  held  it  to  be  slightly  different  from 


196   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

what  Clifford  described ;  but,  producing  the  very  gown 
from  an  old  trunk,  it  proved  to  be  identical  with  his 
remembrance  of  it.  Had  Clifford,  every  time  that  he 
emerged  out  of  dreams  so  lifelike,  undergone  the  torture 
of  transformation  from  a  boy  into  an  old  and  broken 
man,  the  daily  recurrence  of  the  shock  would  have  been 
too  much  to  bear.  It  would  have  caused  an  acute  agony 
to  thrill,  from  the  morning  twilight,  all  the  day  through, 
until  bedtime ;  and  even  then  would  have  mingled  a  dull, 
inscrutable  pain,  and  pallid  hue  of  misfortune,  with  the 
visionary  bloom  and  adolescence  of  his  slumber.  But 
the  nightly  moonshine  interwove  itself  with  the  morning 
mist,  and  enveloped  him  as  in  a  robe,  which  he  hugged 
about  his  person,  and  seldom  let  realities  pierce  through ; 
he  was  not  often  quite  awake,  but  slept  open-eyed,  and 
perhaps  fancied  himself  most  dreaming  then. 

Thus,  lingering  always  so  near  his  childhood,  he 
had  sympathies  with  children,  and  kept  his  heart  the 
fresher  thereby,  like  a  reservoir  into  which  rivulets 
were  pouring,  not  far  from  the  fountain-head.  Though 
prevented,  by  a  subtile  sense  of  propriety,  from  desiring 
to  associate  with  them,  he  loved  few  things  better  than 
to  look  out  of  the  arched  window,  and  see  a  little  girl 
driving  her  hoop  along  the  sidewalk,  or  school-boys  at  a 
game  of  ball.  Their  voices,  also,  were  very  pleasant  to 
him,  heard  at  a  distance,  all  swarmmg  and  intermingling 
together,  as  flies  do  in  a  sunny  room. 

Clifford  would,  doubtless,  have  been  glad  to  share  their 
sports.  One  afternoon,  he  was  seized  with  an  irresistible 
desire  to  blow  soap-bubbles  ;  an  amusement,  as  Hepzibah 
told  Phcebe  apart,  that  had  been  a  favorite  one  with  her 
brother,  when  they  were  both  children.  Behold  him, 
therefore,  at  the  arched  window,  with  un  earthen  pipe 
in  his  mouth !     Behold  him,  with  his  gray  hair,  and  a 


THE   ARCHED   WINDOW.  197 

•vran,  unreal  smile  over  his  countenance,  where  still  hov- 
ered a  beautiful  grace,  which  his  worst  enemy  must 
have  acknowledged  to  be  spiritual  and  immortal,  since 
it  had  survived  so  long !  Behold  him,  scattering  airy 
spheres  abroad,  from  the  window  into  the  street !  Little 
impalpable  worlds  were  those  soap-bubbles,  with  the  big 
world  depicted,  in  hues  bright  as  imagination,  on  the 
nothing  of  their  surface.  It  was  curious  to  see  how  the 
passers-by  regarded  these  brilliant  fantasies,  as  they  came 
floating  down,  and  made  the  dull  atmosphere  imaginative 
about  them.  Some  stopped  to  gaze,  and,  perhaps,  car- 
ried a  pleasant  recollection  of  the  bubbles  onward  as  far 
as  the  street-corner ;  some  looked  angrily  upward,  as  if 
poor  Clifford  wronged  them,  by  setting  an  image  of  beauty 
afloat  so  near  their  dusty  pathway,  A  great  many  put 
out  their  fingers  or  their  walking-sticks,  to  tou'ch,  withal; 
and  were  perversely  gratified,  no  doubt,  when  the  bubble, 
with  all  its  pictured  earth  and  sky  scene,  vanished  as  if  it 
had  never  been. 

At  length,  just  as  an  elderly  gentleman  of  very  digni- 
fied presence  happened  to  be  passing,  a  large  bubble  sailed 
majestically  down,  and  burst  right  against  his  nose  !  He 
looked  up,  —  at  first  with  a  stern,  keen  glance,  which 
penetrated  at  once  into  the  obscurity  behind  the  arched 
window,  — then  with  a  smile  which  might  be  conceived 
as  diffusing  a  dog-day  sultriness  for  the  space  of  several 
yards  about  him. 

"  Aha,  Cousin  Clifford ! "  cried  Judge  Pyncheon. 
"  What !  still  blowing  soap-bubbles  !  " 

The  tone  seemed  as  if  meant  to  be  kind  and  sootliing, 
but  yet  had  a  bitterness  of  sarcasm  in  it.  As  for  CHfford, 
an  absolute  palsy  of  fear  came  over  him.  Apart  from  any 
definite  cause  of  dread  which  his  past  experience  might 
have  given  him,  he  felt  that  native  and  original  horror  of 


198   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  excellent  Judge  whicli  is  proper  to  a  weak,  delicate, 
and  apprehensive  character,  in  the  presence  of  massive 
strength.  Strength  is  incomprehensible  by  weakness, 
and,  therefore,  the  more  terrible.  There  is  no  greater 
bugbear  than  a  strong-willed  relative,  in  the  cii'cle  of  his 
own  connections. 


XII. 


THE  DAGUEREEOTYPIST. 


T  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  life  of  a  per- 
sonage naturally  so  active  as  Phcebe  could  be 
wholly  confined  A\^thin  the  precincts  of  the  old 
Pynciieon  House.  Clifford's  demands  upon  her  time  were 
usually  satisfied,  in  those  long  days,  considerably  earlier 
than  sunset.  Quiet  as  his  daily  existence  seemed,  it 
nevertheless  drained  all  the  resources  by  which  he  lived. 
It  was  not  physical  exercise  that  overwearied  him:  for  — 
except  that  he  sometimes  wrought  a  little  with  a  lioe,  or 
paced  the  garden-walk,  or,  in  rainy  weather,  traversed  a 
large,  unoccupied  room  —  it  was  his  tendency  to  remain 
only  too  quiescent,  as  regarded  any  toil  of  the  limbs  and 
muscles.  But,  either  there  was  a  smouldering  fire  withu> 
him  that  consumed  his  vital  energy,  or  the  monotony  that 
would  have  dragged  itself  with  benumbing  effect  over  a 
mind  differently  situated  was  no  monotony  to  Clifford. 
Possibly,  he  was  in  a  state  of  second  growth  and  recovery, 
and  was  constantly  assimilating  nutriment  for  his  spirit 
and  intellect  from  sights,  sounds,  and  events,  which 
passed  as  a  perfect  void  to  persons  more  practised  with 
the  world.  As  all  is  activity  and  vicissitude  to  the  new 
mind  of  a  child,  so  might  it  be,  likewise,  to  a  mind  that 


200   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

had  undergone  a  kind  of  new  creation,  after  its  long-sus- 
pended life. 

Be  the  cause  what  it  might,  Clifford  commonly  retu'ed 
to  rest,  tlioroughly  exhausted,  while  the  sunbeams  were 
still  melting  through  his  window-curtains,  or  were  thrown 
with  late  lustre  on  the  chamber  wall.  And  while  he  thus 
slept  early,  as  other  children  do,  and  dreamed  of  child- 
hood, Phcebe  was  free  to  follow  her  own  tastes  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day  and  evening. 

This  was  a  freedom  essential  to  the  health  even  of  a 
character  so  little  susceptible  of  morbid  influences  as  that 
of  Phoebe.  The  old  house,  as  we  have  already  said,  had 
both  the  dry-rot  and  the  damp-rot  in  its  walls ;  it  was  not 
good  to  breathe  no  other  atmosphere  than  that.  Hepzi- 
bah,  though  she  had  lier  valuable  and  redeeming  traits, 
had  grown  to  be  a  kind  of  lunatic,  by  imprisoning  herself 
so  long  in  one  place,  with  no  other  company  than  a  single 
series  of  ideas,  and  but  one  affection,  and  one  bit  ter  sense 
of  wrong.  Clifford,  the  reader  may  perhaps  imagine,  was 
100  inert  to  operate  morally  on  his  fellow-creatures,  how- 
ever intimate  and  exclusive  their  relations  with  him.  But 
the  sympathy  or  magnetism  among  human  beings  is  more 
subtile  and  universal  than  we  think ;  it  exists,  indeed, 
among  different  classes  of  organized  life,  and  vibrates 
from  one  to  another.  A  flower,  for  instance,  as  Phcebe 
herself  observed,  always  began  to  droop  sooner  in  Clif- 
ford's hand,  or  Hepzibah's,  than  in  her  own  ;  and  by  the 
same  law,  converting  her  whole  daily  life  into  a  flower- 
fragrance  for  these  two  sickly  spirits,  the  bloommg  girl 
must  inevitably  droop  and  fade  much  sooner  tlian  if  worn 
on  a  younger  and  happier  breast.  Unless  she  had  now 
and  then  indulged  her  brisk  impulses,  and  breathed  rural 
air  in  a  suburban  walk,  or  ocean-breezes  along  the  shore, 
■^had  occasionally  obeyed  the  impulse  of  nature,  in  Ne"w 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPIST.  201 

England  girls,  by  attending  a  metaphysical  or  philosophi- 
cal lecture,  or  viewing  a  seven-mile  panorama,  or  listen- 
ing to  a  concert,  —  had  gone  shopping  about  the  city, 
ransacking  entire  depots  of  splendid  merchandise,  and 
bringing  home  a  ribbon,  —  had  employed,  likewise,  a  little 
time  to  read  the  Bible  in  her  chamber,  and  had  stolen  a 
little  more  to  think  of  her  mother  and  her  native  place,  — 
unless  for  such  moral  medicines  as  the  above,  we  should 
soon  have  beheld  our  poor  Phoebe  grow  thin,  and  put  on 
a  bleached,  unwholesome  aspect,  and  assume  strange,  shy 
ways,  prophetic  of  old-maidenhood  and  a  cheerless  future. 

Even  as  it  was,  a  change  grew  visible  ;  a  change  partly 
to  be  regretted,  although  whatever  charm  it  infringed 
upon  was  repaired  by  another,  perhaps  more  precious. 
She  was  not  so  constantly  gay,  but  had  her  moods  of 
thought,  which  Clifford,  on  the  whole,  liked  better  than 
her  former  phase  of  unmingled  cheerfulness ;  because  now 
she  understood  him  better  and  more  delicately,  and  some- 
times even  interpreted  him  to  himself.  Her  eyes  looked 
larger,  and  darker,  and  deeper ;  so  deep,  at  some  silent 
moments,  that  they  seemed  like  Artesian  wells,  down, 
down,  into  the  infinite.  She  was  less  girlish  than  when 
we  first  beheld  her,  alighting  from  the  omnibus;  less 
girhsh,  but  more  a  woman. 

The  only  youthful  mind  with  which  Phoebe  had  an 
opportunity  of  frequent  intercourse  was  that  of  the  da- 
guerreotypist.  Inevitably,  by  the  pressure  of  the  seclu- 
sion about  them,  they  had  been  brought  into  habits  of  some 
familiarity.  Had  they  met  under  different  circumstances, 
neither  of  these  young  persons  would  have  been  likely  to 
bestow  much  thought  upon  the  other;  unless,  indeed, 
their  extreme  dissimilarity  should  have  proved  a  principle 
of  mutual  attraction.  Both,  it  is  true,  were  characters 
proper  to  New  England  life,  and  possessing  a  common 


202   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

ground,  therefore,  in  tlieir  more  external  developments ; 
but  as  unlike,  in  tlieir  respective  interiors,  as  if  their 
native  climes  had  been  at  world-wide  distance.  During 
the  early  part  of  their  acquaintance,  Phoebe  had  held  back 
rather  more  than  was  customary  with  her  frank  and  sim- 
ple manners  from  Holgrave's  not  very  marked  advances. 
Nor  was  she  yet  satisfied  that  she  knew  him  well,  although 
they  almost  daily  met  and  talked  together,  in  a  kind, 
friendly,  and  what  seemed  to  be  a  familiar  way. 

The  artist,  in  a  desultory  manner,  had  imparted  to 
Phoebe  something  of  his  history.  Young  as  he  was,  and 
had  his  career  terminated  at  the  point  already  attained, 
there  had  been  enough  of  incident  to  fill,  very  creditably, 
an  autobiographic  volume.  A  romance  on  the  plan  of 
Gil  Bias,  adapted  to  American  society  and  manners, 
would  cease  to  be  a  romance.  The  experience  of  many 
individuals  among  us,  who  think  it  hardly  worth  the  tell- 
ing, would  equal  the  vicissitudes  of  the  Spaniard's  earlier 
life ;  while  their  ultimate  success,  or  the  point  whither 
they  tend,  may  be  incomparably  higher  than  any  that  a 
novelist  would  imagine  for  his  hero.  Holgrave,  as  he 
told  Phoebe,  somewhat  proudly,  could  not  boast  of  his 
origin,  unless  as  being  exceedingly  humble,  nor  of  his 
education,  except  that  it  had  been  the  scantiest  possible, 
and  obtained  by  a  few  winter-months'  attendance  at  a 
district  school.  Left  early  to  his  omu  guidance,  he  had 
begun  to  be  self-dependent  while  yet  a  boy ;  and  it  was 
a  condition  aptly  suited  to  his  natural  force  of  will. 
Though  now  but  twenty-two  years  old  (lacking  some 
months,  which  are  years  in  such  a  Hfe),  he  had  already 
been,  first,  a  country  schoolmaster ;  next,  a  salesman  ill 
a  country  store ;  and,  either  at  the  same  time  or  after- 
wards, the  political  editor  of  a  country  newspaper.  He* 
had  subsequently  travel 'p/1  ]^few  England  and  the  Middle 


THE    DAGUERREOTYPIST.  203 

States,  as  a  pedler,  in  the  employment  of  a  Connecticut 
manufactory  of  cologne-water  and  other  essences.  lu  an 
episodical  way,  he  had  studied  and  practised  dentistry, 
and  with  very  flattering  success,  especially  in  many  of 
the  factory-towns  along  our  inland  streams.  As  a  super- 
numerary official,  of  some  kind  or  other,  aboard  a  packet- 
ship,  he  had  visited  Europe,  and  found  means,  before  his 
return,  to  see  Italy,  and  part  of  Erance  and  Germany. 
At  a  later  period,  he  had  spent  some  months  in  a  com- 
munity of  Eourierists.  Still  more  recently,  he  had  been 
a  public  lecturer  on  Mesmerism,  for  which  science  (as  he 
assured  Phoebe,  and,  indeed,  satisfactorily  proved,  by 
putting  Chanticleer,  who  happened  to  be  scratching  near 
by,  to  sleep)  he  had  very  remarkable  endowments. 

His  present  phase,  as  a  daguerreotypist,  was  of  no  more 
importance  in  his  own  view,  nor  likely  to  be  more  perma- 
nent, than  any  of  the  preceding  ones.  It  had  been  taken 
up  with  the  careless  alacrity  of  an  adventurer,  who  had 
his  bread  to  earn.  It  would  be  thro^Ti  aside  as  care« 
lessly,  whenever  he  should  choose  to  earn  his  bread  by 
some  other  equally  digressive  means.  But  what  was  most 
remarkable,  and,  perhaps,  showed  a  more  than  common, 
poise  in  the  young  man,  was  the  fact,  that,  amid  all  these 
personal  vicissitudes,  he  had  never  lost  his  identity. 
Homeless  as  he  had  been,  —  continually  changing  his 
whereabout,  and,  therefore,  responsible  neither  to  public 
opinion  nor  to  individuals,  —  putting  off  one  exterior,  and 
snatching  up  another,  to  be  soon  shifted  for  a  third,  —  he 
had  never  violated  the  innermost  man,  but  had  carried 
his  conscience  along  with  him.  It  was  impossible  to  know 
Holgrave,  without  recognizing  this  to  be  the  fact.  Hep- 
zibah  had  seen  it.  Phoebe  soon  saw  it,  likewise,  and 
gave  him  the  sort  of  confidence  which  such  a  certainty 
inspires.     She  was  startled,   however,   and   sometimes 


204   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

repelled^  —  not  by  any  doubt  of  Ids  integrity  to  wbatevei 
law  he  acknowledged,  —  but  by  a  sense  that  his  law  dif- 
fered from  her  own.  He  made  her  uneasy,  and  seemed 
to  unsettle  everythmg  around  her,  by  his  lack  of  rever- 
ence for  what  was  fixed,  unless,  at  a  moment's  warning, 
it  could  eslabhsh  its  right  to  hold  its  ground. 

Then,  moreover,  she  scarcely  thought  him  affectionate 
in  his  nature.  He  was  too  calm  and  cool  an  obsei-ver. 
Phoebe  felt  his  eye,  often ;  his  heart,  seldom  or  never. 
He  took  a  certain  kind  of  interest  in  Hepzibah  and  her 
brother,  and  Phoebe  herseli  He  studied  them  attentively, 
and  allowed  no  sUghtest  circumstance  of  their  individual- 
ities to  escape  him.  He  was  ready  to  do  them  whatever 
good  he  might ;  but,  after  all,  he  never  exactly  made 
common  cause  with  them,  nor  gave  any  reliable  evidence 
that  he  loved  them  better,  in  proportion  as  he  knew  them 
more.  In  his  relations  with  them,  he  seemed  to  be  in 
quest  of  mental  food,  not  heart-sustenance.  Phoebe 
could  not  conceive  what  mterested  him  so  much  in  her 
friends  and  herself,  intellectually,  since  he  cared  nothing 
for  them,  or,  comparatively,  so  Uttle,  as  objects  of  human 
affection. 

Always,  in  his  interviews  with  Phoebe,  the  artist  made 
especial  inquiry  as  to  the  welfare  of  Clifford,  whom,  ex- 
cej^  at  the  Sunday  festival,  he  seldom  saw. 

"  Does  he  still  seem  happy  ?  "  he  asked,  one  day. 

"  As  happy  as  a  child,"  answered  Phoebe ;  "  but  —  hke 
a  child,  too  —  very  easHy  disturbed." 

"How  disturbed?"  inquu-ed  Holgrave.  "By  things 
without,  or  by  thoughts  within  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  see  his  thoughts  !  How  should  I  ?  "  repUed 
Phoebe,  with  simple  piquancy.  "  Very  often,  his  humor 
changes  without  any  reason  that  can  be  guessed  at,  just 
as  a  cloud  comes  over  the  sun.    Latterly,  since  I  have 


THE    DAGUERREOTYPIST.  205 

begun  to  know  him  better,  I  feel  it  to  be  not  quite  right 
to  look  closely  into  his  moods.  He  has  had  such  a  great 
sorrow,  that  his  heart  is  made  all  solemn  and  sacred  by  it. 
When  he  is  cheerful,  —  when  the  sun  shines  into  his  mind, 
—  then  I  venture  to  peep  in,  just  as  far  as  the  light 
reaches,  but  no  further.  It  is  holy  ground  where  the 
shadow  falls  !  " 

"  How  prettily  you  express  this  sentiment !  "  said  the 
artist.  "  I  can  understand  the  feelmg,  without  possess- 
ing it.  Had  I  your  opportunities,  no  scruples  would  pre- 
vent me  from  fathoming  Clifford  to  the  full  depth  of  my 
plummet-liue  !  " 

"  How  strange  that  you  should  wish  it !  "  remarked 
Phoebe,  involuntarily.  "What  is  Cousin  Clifford  to 
you  ?  "         _ 

"  O,  nothing,  —  of  course,  nothing  !  "  answered  Hol- 
grave,  with  a  smile.  "  Only  this  is  such  an  odd  and  in- 
comprehensible world !  The  more  I  look  at  it,  the  more 
it  puzzles  me,  and  I  begin  to  suspect  that  a  man's  bewil- 
derment is  the  measure  of  his  wisdom.  Men  and  women, 
and  children,  too,  are  such  strange  creatures,  that  one 
never  can  be  certain  that  he  really  knows  them ;  nor 
ever  guess  what  they  have  been,  from  what  he  sees  them 
to  be,  now.  Judge  Pyncheon  !  Clifford  !  What  a  com- 
plex riddle  —  a  complexity  of  complexities  —  do  they 
present!  It  requires  intuitive  sympathy,  like  a  young 
girl's,  to  solve  it.  A  mere  obsen^er,  like  myself  (who 
never  have  any  intuitions,  and  am,  at  best,  only  subtile 
and  acute),  is  pretty  certain  to  go  astray. 

The  artist  now  turned  the  conversation  to  themes  less 
dark  than  that  which  they  had  touched  upon.  Plioebe 
and  he  were  young  together ;  nor  had  Holgrave,  in  his 
premature  experience  of  life,  wasted  entirely  that  beauti- 
ftd  spirit  of  youth,  which,  gushing  forth  from  one  small 


206   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

heart  and  fancy,  may  diffuse  itself  over  the  universe, 
making  it  all  as  briglit  as  on  the  first  day  of  creation. 
Man's  own  youth  is  the  world's  youth ;  at  least,  he  feels 
as  if  it  were,  and  imagines  that  the  earth's  granite  sub- 
stance is  something  not  yet  hardened,  and  w^hich  he  can 
mould  into  whatever  shape  he  likes.  So  it  was  with 
Holgrave.  He  could  talk  sagely  about  the  world's  old 
age,  but  never  actually  believed  what  he  said;  he  was 
a  young  man  still,  and  therefore  looked  upon  the  world 

—  that  gray-bearded  and  wrinkled  profligate,  decrepit, 
w^tliout  being  venerable  —  as  a  tender  stripling,  capable 
of  being  improved  into  all  that  it  ought  to  be,  but 
scarcely  yet  had  shown  the  remotest  promise  of  becom- 
ing. He  had  that  sense,  or  inward  prophecy,  —  which 
a  young  man  had  better  never  have  been  born  than  not 
to  have,  and  a  mature  man  had  better  die  at  once  than 
utterly  to  relinquish,  —  that  we  are  not  doomed  to  creep 
on  forever  in  the  old  bad  way,  but  that,  this  very  now, 
there  are  the  harbingers  abroad  of  a  golden  era,  to  be 
accomphshed  in  his  own  lifetime.  It  seemed  to  Hol- 
grave—  as  doubtless  it  has  seemed  to  the  hopeful  of 
every  century,  since  the  epoch  of  Adam's  grandchildren 

—  that  in  this  age,  more  than  ever  before,  the  moss- 
grown  and  rotten  Past  is  to  be  torn  down,  and  lifeless 
institutions  to  be  thrust  out  of  the  way,  and  their  dead 
corpses  buried,  and  everything  to  begin  anew. 

As  to  the  main  point,  —  may  we  never  live  to  doubt 
it !  —  as  to  the  better  centuries  that  are  coming,  the 
artist  was  surely  right.  His  error  lay  in  supposing  that 
this  age,  more  than  any  past  or  future  one,  is  destined  to 
see  the  tattered  garments  of  Antiquity  exchanged  for  a 
new  suit,  instead  of  gradually  renewing  themselves  by 
patchwork;  in  applying  his  own  little  hfe-span  as  the 
measure  of  an  interminable  achievement ;  and,  more  than 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPIST.  W7 

all,  in  fancying  that  it  mattered  anything  to  the  great 
end  in  view,  whether  he  himself  should  contend  for  it  or 
against  it.  Yet  it  was  well  for  him  to  think  so.  This 
enthusiasm,  infusing  itself  through  the  calmness  of  his 
character,  and  thus  takmg  an  aspect  of  settled  thought 
and  wisdom,  would  serve  to  keep  his  youth  pure,  and 
make  his  aspirations  high.  And  when,  with  the  years 
setthng  down  more  weightily  upon  him,  his  early  faith 
should  be  modified  by  inevitable  experience,  it  would  be 
with  no  harsh  and  sudden  revolution  of  his  sentiments. 
He  would  still  have  faith  in  man's  brighteuhig  destmy, 
and  perhaps  love  him  all  the  better,  as  he  should  recog- 
nize his  helplessness  in  his  own  behalf;  and  the  haughty 
faith,  with  which  he  began  life,  would  be  well  bartered 
for  a  far  humbler  one,  at  its  close,  in  discerning  that 
man's  best  directed  effort  accomplishes  a  kind  of  dream, 
while  God  is  the  sole  worker  of  realities. 

Holgrave  had  read  very  little,  and  that  little  in  passing 
through  the  thoroughfare  of  life,  where  the  mystic  lan- 
guage of  his  books  was  necessarily  mixed  up  with  the 
babble  of  the  multitude,  so  that  both  one  and  the  other 
were  apt  to  lose  any  sense  that  might  have  been  properly 
their  own.  He  considered  himself  a  thinker,  and  was 
certainly  of  a  thoughtful  turn,  but,  with  his  own  path 
to  discover,  had  perhaps  hardly  yet  reached  the  point 
where  an  educated  man  begins  to  think.  The  true  value 
of  his  character  lay  in  that  deep  consciousness  of  in- 
ward strength,  which  made  all  his  past  vicissitudes  seem 
merely  like  a  change  of  garments ;  in  that  enthusiasm, 
so  quiet  that  he  scarcely  knew  of  its  existence,  but 
which  gave  a  warmth  to  everything  that  he  laid  his  hand 
on ;  in  that  personal  ambition,  hidden  —  from  his  own 
as  well  as  other  eyes  —  among  his  more  generous  im- 
pulses, but  in  which  lurked  a  certain  efficacv,  that  might 


208'  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

solidify  liim  from  a  theorist  into  the  champion  of  some 
practicable  cause.  Altogether,  in  his  culture  and  want 
of  culture,  —  in  his  crude,  wild,  and  misty  philosophy, 
and  tlie  practical  experience  that  counteracted  some  of 
its  tendencies ;  in  his  magnanimous  zeal  for  man's  wel- 
fare, and  his  recklessness  of  whatever  the  ages  had  es- 
tablished in  man's  behalf;  in  his  faith,  aud  in  his  infi- 
delity ;  in  what  he  had,  and  in  what  he  lacked,  —  the 
artist  might  fitly  enough  stand  forth  as  the  representa- 
tive of  many  compeers  in  his  native  land. 

His  career  it  would  be  difficult  to  prefigure.  There 
appeared  to  be  quaUties  in  Holgrave,  such  as,  in  a 
country  where  everything  is  free  to  the  hand  that  can 
grasp  it,  could  hardly  fail  to  put  some  of  the  world's 
prizes  within  his  reach.  But  these  matters  are  delight- 
fully uncertain.  At  almost  every  step  in  life,  we  meet 
with  young  men  of  just  about  Holgrave's  age,  for  whom 
we  anticipate  wonderful  things,  but  of  whom,  even  after 
much  and  careful  inquiry,  we  never  happen  to  hear 
another  word.  The  effervescence  of  youth  aud  passion, 
and  the  fresh  gloss  of  the  intellect  and  imagination,  en- 
dow them  with  a  false  brilliancy,  which  makes  fools  of 
themselves  and  other  people.  Like  certaiu  chintzes, 
calicoes,  and  ginghams,  they  show  finely  in  their  first 
newness,  but  cannot  stand  the  sun  and  rain,  and  assume 
a  very  sober  aspect  after  washing-day. 

But  our  business  is  with  Holgrave  as  we  find  him  on 
this  particular  afternoon,  and  in  the  arbor  of  the  Pyn- 
cheon  garden.  In  that' point  of  view,  it  was  a  pleasant 
sight  to  behold  this  young  man,  with  so  much  faith  in 
himself,  and  so  fair  an  appearance  of  admirable  powers, 
—  so  httle  harmed,  too,  by  the  many  tests  that  had  tried 
his  metal,  —  it  was  pleasant  to  see  him  in  his  kindly  iu- 
tercourse  with  Phcebe.     Her  thought  had  scarcely  done 


THE    DAGUERREOTYPIST.  '209 

him  justice,  ■when  it  pronounced  liim  cold ;  or,  if  so,  he 
had  grown  warmer  now.  Without  such  purpose  on  her 
part,  and  unconsciously  on  his,  she  made  the  House  of 
the  Seven  Gables  like  a  home  to  him,  and  the  garden  a 
familiar  precinct.  With  the  insight  on  which  he  prided 
himself,  he  fancied  that  he  could  look  through  Phcebe, 
and  all  around  her,  and  could  read  her  off  like  a  page 
of  a  child's  story-book.  But  these  transparent  natures 
are  often  deceptive  in  their  depth ;  those  pebbles  at 
the  bottom  of  the  fountain  are  farther  from  us  than 
we  think.  Thus  the  artist,  whatever  he  might  judge  of 
Phoebe's  capacity,  was  beguiled,  by  some  silent  charm  of 
hers,  to  talk  fi'eely  of  what  he  dreamed  of  doing  in  the 
world.  He  poured  himself  out  as  to  another  self.  Very 
possibly,  he  forgot  Phoebe  while  he  talked  to  her,  and 
was  moved  only  by  the  inevitable  tendency  of  thought, 
when  rendered  sympathetic  by  enthusiasm  and  emotion, 
to  flow  into  the  first  safe  reservoir  which  it  finds.  But, 
had  you  peeped  at  them  through  the  chinks  of  the  gar- 
den-fence, the  young  man's  earnestness  and  heightened 
color  might  have  led  you  to  suppose  that  he  was  making 
love  to  the  young  girl ! 

At  length,  something  was  said  by  Holgrave  that  made 
it  apposite  for  Phoebe  to  inquire  what  had  first  brought 
him  acquainted  with  her  cousin  Hepzibah,  and  why  he 
now  chose  to  lodge  in  the  desolate  old  Pyncheon  House. 
Without  directly  answering  her,  he  turned  from  the 
Future,  which  had  heretofore  been  the  theme  of  his  dis- 
course, and  began  to  speak  of  the  influences  of  the  Past. 
One  subject,  indeed,  is  but  the  reverberation  of  the  other. 

"  Shall  we  never,  never  get  rid  of  this  Past  ?  "  cried 
he,  keeping  up  the  earnest  tone  of  his  preceding  conver- 
sation, "  It  lies  upon  the  Present  like  a  giant's  dead 
body  !     In  fact,  the  case  is  just  as  if  a  young  giant  wore 


210   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

compelled  to  waste  all  his  strength  in  carrying  about  the 
corpse  of  the  old  giant,  his  grandfather,  who  died  a  long 
while  ago,  and  only  needs  to  be  decently  buried.  Just 
think  a  moment,  and  it  will  startle  you  to  see  what  slaves 
we  are  to  bygone  times,  —  to  Death,  if  we  give  the  mat- 
ter the  right  word !  " 

"But  I  do  not  see  it,"  observed  Phoebe. 

"For  example,  then,"  continued  Holgrave  ;  "a  dead 
man,  if  he  happen  to  have  made  a  will,  disposes  of 
wealth  no  longer  his  own ;  or,  if  he  die  intestate,  it  is 
distributed  in  accordance  with  the  notions  of  men  much 
longer  dead  than  he.  A  dead  man  sits  on  all  our  judg- 
ment-seats; and  living  judges  do  but  search  out  and 
repeat  his  decisions.  We  read  in  dead  men's  books  ! 
"We  laugh  at  dead  men's  jokes,  and  cry  at  dead  men's 
pathos  !  We  are  sick  of  dead  men's  diseases,  physical 
and  moral,  and  die  of  the  same  remedies  with  which  dead 
doctors  kiUed  their  patients !  We  worship  the  living 
Deity  according  to  dead  men's  forms  and  creeds.  What- 
ever we  seek  to  do,  of  our  own  free  motion,  a  dead  man's 
icy  hand  obstructs  us  !  Turn  our  eyes  to  what  point  we 
may,  a  dead  man's  white,  immitigable  face  encounters 
them,  and  freezes  our  very  heart !  And  we  must  be  dead 
ourselves,  before  we  can  begin  to  have  our  proper  in- 
fluence on  our  own  world,  which  will  then  be  no  longer 
our  world,  but  the  world  of  another  generation,  wkh 
which  we  shall  have  no  shadow  of  a  right  to  interfere. 
1  ought  to  have  said,  too,  that  we  live  in  dead  men's 
houses  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  this  of  the  Seven  Gables  !  " 

"And  why  not,"  said  Phoebe,  "  so  long  as  we  can  be 
comfortable  in  them  ?  " 

"But  we  shall  live  to  see  the  day,  I  trust,"  went  oa 
the  artist,  "  when  no  man  shall  build  his  house  for  pos- 
terity.    Why  should  he  ?     He  might  just  as  reasonably 


THE    DAGUERREOTYPIST.  211 

order  a  durable  suit  of  clothes,  —  leather,  or  gutta- 
percha, or  whatever  else  lasts  longest,  —  so  that  his 
great-grandchildren  should  have  the  benefit  of  them,  and 
cut  precisely  the  same  figure  in  the  vrorld  that  he  himself 
does.  If  each  generation  were  allowed  and  expected  to 
build  its  own  houses,  that  single  change,  comparatively 
unimportant  in  itself,  would  imply  almost  every  reform 
which  society  is  now  suffering  for.  I  doubt  whether 
even  our  pubUc  edifices  —  our  capitols,  state-houses, 
court-houses,  city-halls,  and  churches  —  ought  to  be 
built  of  such  permanent  materials  as  stone  or  brick.  It 
were  better  that  they  should  crumble  to  ruin,  once  in 
twenty  years,  or  thereabouts,  as  a  hint  to  the  people  to 
examine  into  and  reform  the  institutions  which  they  sym- 
bolize." 

"  How  you  hate  everything  old !  "  said  Phoebe,  in  dis- 
may. "  It  makes  me  dizzy  to  think  of  such  a  shifting 
world ! " 

"I  certainly  love  nothing  mouldy,"  answered  Hol- 
grave.  "  Now,  this  old  Pyncheon  House !  Is  it  a 
wholesome  place  to  live  in,  with  its  black  shingles,  and 
the  green  moss  that  shows  how  damp  they  are  ?  —  its 
dark,  low-studded  rooms  ?  —  its  grime  and  sordidness, 
which  are  the  crystalHzation  on  its  walls  of  the  human 
breath,  that  has  been  drawn  and  exhaled  here,  in  discon- 
tent  and  anguish  ?  The  house  ought  to  be  purified  with 
fire,  —  purified  till  only  its  ashes  remain !  " 

*'  Then  why  do  you  live  in  it  ?  "  asked  Phoebe,  a  little 
piqued. 

"  O,  I  am  pursuing  my  studies  here ;  not  in  books, 
however,"  replied  Holgrave.  "  The  house,  in  my  view, 
is  expressive  of  that  odious  and  abominable  Past,  with  all 
its  bad  influences,  against  which  I  have  just  been  de- 
claiming.    I  dwell  in  it  for  a  while,  that  I  may  know  the 


212   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

better  liow  to  Late  it.  By  the  hj,  did  you  ever  hear  the 
story  of  Maule,  the  wizard,  and  what  happened  between 
him  and  your  immeasurably  great-grandfather  ?  " 

"  Yes  indeed ! "  said  Phcebe ;  "I  heard  it  long  ago, 
from  my  father,  and  two  or  three  times  from  my  cousin 
Hepzibah,  in  the  mouth  that  I  have  been  here.  She 
seems  to  think  that  all  the  calamities  of  the  Pyncheons 
began  from  that  quarrel  with  the  wizard,  as  you  call  him. 
And  you,  Mr.  Holgrave,  look  as  if  you  thought  so  too  ! 
How  singular,  that  you  should  believe  what  is  so  veiy 
absurd,  when  you  reject  many  things  that  are  a  great 
deal  worthier  of  credit !  " 

"  I  do  believe  it,"  said  the  artist,  seriously ;  "  not  as 
a  superstition,  however,  but  as  proved  by  unquestionable 
facts,  and  as  exempUfying  a  theory.  Kow,  see  ;  —  under 
those  seven  gables,  at  which  we  now  look  up,  —  and 
which  old  Colonel  Pyncheon  meant  to  be  the  house  of 
his  descendants,  in  prosperity  and  happmess,  down  to  an 
epoch  far  beyond  the  present,  —  under  that  roof,  through 
a  portion  of  three  centuries,  there  has  been  perpetual 
remorse  of  conscience,  a  constantly  defeated  hope,  strife 
amongst  kindred,  various  misery,  a  strange  form  of  death, 
dark  suspicion,  unspeakable  disgrace,  —  all,  or  most  of 
which  calamity  I  have  the  means  of  tracing  to  the  old 
Puritan's  inordinate  desire  to  plant  and  endow  a  family. 
To  plant  a  family  !  This  idea  is  at  the  bottom  of  niost 
of  the  wrong  and  mischief  which  men  do.  The  truth 
is,  that,  once  in  every  half-century,  at  longest,  a  family 
should  be  merged  into  the  great,  obscure  mass  of  human- 
ity, and  forget  all  about  its  ancestors.  Human  blood,  in 
order  to  keep  its  freshness,  should  run  in  hidden  streams, 
as  the  water  of  an  aqueduct  is  conveyed  in  subterranean 
pipes.  In  the  family  existence  of  these  Pyncheons,  for 
instance,  —  forgive  me,  Phoebe :  but  I  cannot  think  of 


THE   DAGUERREOTYPIST.  ^13 

you  as  one  of  tliem,  —  in  their  brief  New  England  pedi- 
gree, there  has  been  time  enough  to  infect  them  all  with 
one  kind  of  lunacy  or  another  !  " 

"  You  speak  very  unceremoniously  of  my  kindred/* 
said  Phoebe,  debating  with  herself  whether  she  ought  to 
take  offence. 

"  I  speak  true  thoughts  to  a  true  mind !  "  answered 
Holgrave,  with  a  vehemence  which  Phcebe  had  not  before 
witnessed  in  him.  "  The  truth  is  as  I  say  !  Eurther- 
more,  the  original  perpetrator  and  father  of  this  mischief 
appears  to  have  perpetuated  himself,  and  still  walks  the 
street, — at  least,  his  very  image,  in  mind  and  body, — ■ 
with  the  fairest  prospect  of  transmitting  to  posterity  as 
rich  and  as  wretched  an  inheritance  as  he  has  received ! 
Do  you  remember  the  daguerreotype,  and  its  resemblance 
to  the  old  portrait  ?  " 

"  How  strangely  in  earnest  you  are !  "  exclaimed 
PhtBbe,  looking  at  him  with  surprise  and  perplexity ;  half 
alarmed  and  partly  inclined  to  laugh.  "  You  talk  of  the 
lunacy  of  the  Pyncheons ;  is  it  contagious?  " 

"  I  understand  you !  "  said  the  artist,  coloring  and 
laughing.  "I  believe  I  am  a  little  mad.  This  subject 
has  taken  hold  of  my  mind  with  the  strangest  tenacity  of 
clutch,  since  I  have  lodged  in  yonder  old  gable.  As  one 
method  of  throwing  it  off,  I  have  put  an  incident  of  the 
Fyncheon  family  history,  with  which  I  happen  to  be 
acquainted,  into  the  form  of  a  legend,  and  mean  to  pub- 
lish it  in  a  magazine." 

"  Do  you  write  for  the  magazines  ?  "  inquired  Phoebe. 

"Is  it  possible  you  did  not  know  it  ?  "  cried  Holgrave. 
"  "Well,  such  is  literary  fame !  Yes,  Miss  Phoebe  Pyn- 
cheon,  among  the  multitude  of  my  marvellous  gifts,  I 
have  that  of  writing  stories ;  and  my  name  has  figured, 
I  can  assure  you,  on  the  covers  of  Graham  and  Godey, 


214   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

making  as  respectable  an  appearance,  for  angM  I  could 
see,  as  any  of  the  canonized  bead-roll  vrith.  -which  it  was 
associated.  In  the  humorous  line,  I  am  thought  to  have 
a  very  pretty  way  with  me ;  and  as  for  pathos,  1  am  as 
provocative  of  tears  as  an  onion.  But  shall  I  read  you 
my  story  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  not  very  long,"  said  Phoebe,  —  and  added 
laughingly,  —  "  nor  very  dull." 

As  this  latter  point  was  one  which  the  daguerreotypist 
could  not  decide  for  himself,  he  forthwith  produced  his 
roll  of  manuscript,  and,  while  the  late  sunbeams  gilded  the 
seven  gebles,  began  to  read. 


XIII. 


ALICE  PYNCHEON. 


HERE  was  a  message  brought,  one  day,  from 
the  worshipful  Gervayse  Pyncheon  to  young 
Matthew  Maule,  the  carpenter,  desiring  his  im- 
mediate presence  at  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables. 

"  And  what  does  your  master  want  with  me  ? "  said 
the  carpenter  to  Mr.  Pyncheon's  black  servant.  "  Does 
the  house  need  any  repair  ?  Well  it  may,  by  this  time ; 
and  no  blame  to  my  father  who  built  it,  neither !  I  was 
reading  the  old  Colonel's  tombstone,  no  longer  ago  than 
last  Sabbath ;  and,  reckoning  from  that  date,  the  house 
has  stood  seven-and-thirty  years.  No  wonder  if  there 
should  be  a  job  to  do  on  the  roof." 

"Don't  know  what  massa  wants,"  answered  Scipio. 
"  The  house  is  a  berry  good  house,  and  old  Colonel  Pyn- 
cheon think  so  too,  I  reckon ;  —  else  why  the  old  man 
haunt  it  so,  and  frighten  a  poor  nigga,  as  he  does  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  friend  Scipio ;  let  your  master  know  that 
I  'm  coming,"  said  the  carpenter,  with  a  laugh.  "  For  a 
fair,  workmanlike  job,  he  '11  find  me  his  man.  And  so 
the  house  is  haunted,  is  it  ?  It  will  take  a  tighter  work- 
man than  I  am  to  keep  the  spirits  out  of  the  Seven 
Gables.     Even  if  the  Colonel  would  be  quiet,"  he  added. 


216   THE  HOUSE  OF   THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

muttering  to  himself,  "  my  old  grandfather,  the  wizard' 
will  be  pretty  sure  to  stick  to  the  Pyncheons,  as  long  as 
their  walls  hold  together." 

"  What 's  that  you  mutter  to  yourself,  Matthew  Maule  ?  " 
asked  Scipio.  "  And  what  for  do  you  look  so  black  at 
me?  " 

"  No  matter,  darky  !  "  said  the  carpenter.  "  Do  you 
think  nobody  is  to  look  black  but  yourself?  Go  tell 
your  master  I  'm  coming ;  and  if  you  happen  to  see 
jVIistress  Alice,  his  daughter,  give  Matthew  Maule's 
humble  respects  to  her.  She  has  brought  a  fair  face 
from  Italy,  —  fair,  and  gentle,  and  proud,  —  has  that 
same  Alice  Pyncheou !  " 

'*  He  talk  of  Mistress  Alice !  "  cried  Scipio,  as  he 
returned  from  his  errand.  "The  low  carpenter-man! 
He  no  business  so  much  as  to  look  at  her  a  great  way 
off!" 

This  young  Matthew  Maule,  the  carpenter,  it  must  be 
observed,  was  a  person  little  understood,  and  not  very 
generally  liked,  in  the  town  where  he  resided ;  not  that 
anything  could  be  alleged  against  his  integrity,  or  his 
skill  and  diligence  in  the  handicraft  which  he  exercised. 
The  aversion  (as  it  might  justly  be  called)  with  which 
many  persons  regarded  him  was  partly  the  result  of  his 
own  character  and  deportment,  and  partly  an  inheritance. 

He  was  the  grandson  of  a  former  Matthew  Maule,  one 
of  the  early  settlers  of  the  town,  and  who  had  been  a 
famous  and  terrible  wizard,  in  his  day.  This  old  repro- 
bate was  one  of  the  sufferers  when  Cotton  Mather,  and 
his  brother  ministers,  and  the  learned  judges,  and  other 
wise  men,  and  Sir  William  Phipps,  the  sagacious  gov- 
ernor, made  such  laudable  efforts  to  weaken  the  great 
enemy  of  souls,  by  sending  a  multitude  of  his  adherents 
up  the  rocky  pathway  of  Gallows   Hill.     Since  those 


ALICE    PYNCHEON.  217 

^ays,  no  doubt,  it  had  grown  to  be  suspected,  that,  in 
consequence  of  an  unfortunate  overdoing  of  a  work 
praiseworthy  in  itself,  the  proceedings  against  the  witches 
had  proved  far  less  acceptable  to  the  Beneficent  Father 
than  to  that  very  Arch  Enemy  whom  they  were  intended 
to  distress  and  utterly  overwhelm.  It  is  not  the  less 
certain,  however,  that  awe  and  terror  brooded  over  the 
memories  of  those  who  died  for  this  horrible  crime  of 
witchcraft.  Their  graves,  in  the  crevices  of  the  rocks, 
were  supposed  to  be  incapable  of  retaming  the  occupants 
who  had  been  so  hastily  thrust  into  them.  Old  Matthew 
Maule,  especially,  was  known  to  have  as  little  hesitation 
or  difficulty  in  rising  out  of  his  grave  as  an  ordinary  man 
in  getting  out  of  bed,  and  was  as  often  seen  at  midnight 
as  hving  people  at  noonday.  This  pestilent  wizard  (in 
whom  his  just  punishment  seemed  to  have  wrought  no 
manner  of  amendment)  had  an  inveterate  habit  of  haunt- 
ing a  certain  mansion,  styled  the  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  against  the  owner  of  which  he  pretended  to  hold 
an  unsettled  claim  for  ground-rent.  The  ghost,  it  ap- 
pears, —  with  the  pertinacity  which  was  one  of  his  dis- 
tinguishing characteristics  while  alive,  —  insisted  that  he 
was  the  rightful  proprietor  of  the  site  upon  which  the 
house  stood.  His  terms  were,  that  either  the  aforesaid 
ground-rent,  from  the  day  when  the  cellar  began  to  be 
dug,  should  be  paid  down,  or  the  mansion  itself  given 
up ;  else  he,  the  ghostly  creditor,  would  have  his  finger 
in  all  the  affairs  of  the  Pyncheons,  and  make  everything 
go  wrong  with  them,  though  it  should  be  a  thousand 
years  after  his  death.  It  was  a  wild  story,  perhaps,  but 
seemed  not  altogether  so  incredible  to  those  who  could 
remember  what  an  inflexibly  obstinate  old  fellow  this 
wizard  Maule  had  been. 

Now,   the  wizard's   grandson,   the    young  Matthew 


218   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Maule  of  our  story,  was  popularly  supposed  to  have  in. 
herited  some  of  his  ancestor's  questionable  traits.  It  is 
wonderful  how  many  absurdities  were  promulgated  in 
reference  to  the  young  man.  He  was  fabled,  for  exam- 
ple, to  have  a  strange  po-\^er  of  getting  into  people's 
dreams,  and  regulating  matters  there  according  to  his 
own  fancy,  pretty  much  like  the  stage-manager  of  a 
theatre.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  talk  among  the 
neighbors,  particularly  the  petticoated  ones,  about  what 
they  called  the  witchcraft  of  Maule's  eye.  Some  said 
that  he  could  look  into  people's  minds ;  others,  that,  by 
the  marvellous  power  of  this  eye,  he  could  draw  people 
into  his  own  mind,  or  send  them,  if  he  pleased,  to  do 
errands  to  his  grandfather,  m  the  spiritual  world ;  others, 
again,  that  it  was  what  is  termed  an  Evil  Eye,  and  pos- 
sessed the  valuable  faculty  of  bhghting  corn,  and  drying 
children  into  mummies  with  the  heartburn.  But,  after 
all,  what  worked  most  to  the  young  carpenter's  disad- 
vantage was,  first,  the  reserve  and  sternness  of  his  natu- 
ral disposition,  and  next,  the  fact  of  his  not  being  a 
church-communicant,  and  the  suspicion  of  his  holding 
heretical  tenets  in  matters  of  religion  and  polity. 

After  receiving  Mr.  Pyncheon's  message,  the  carpenter 
merely  tarried  to  finish  a  small  job,  which  he  happened  to 
have  in  hand,  and  then  took  his  way  towards  the  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables.  This  noted  edifice,  though  its  style 
might  be  getting  a  little  out  of  fashion,  was  still  as  re- 
spectable a  family  residence  as  that  of  any  gentleman  in 
town.  The  present  owner,  Gervayse  Pyncheon,  was  said 
to  have  contracted  a  dislike  to  the  house,  in  consequence 
of  a  shock  to  his  sensibility,  in  early  childhood,  from  the 
sudden  death  of  his  grandfather.  In  the  very  act  of  run- 
ning to  climb  Colonel  Pyncheon's  knee,  the  boy  had  dis- 
covered the  old  Puritan  to  be  a  corpse  !     On  arriving  at 


ALICE   PYNCHEON.  219 

manhood,  Mr.  Pyncheon  had  visited  England,  where  he 
married  a  lady  of  fortune,  and  had  subsequently  spent 
many  years,  partly  in  the  mother  country,  and  partly  in 
various  cities  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  During  this 
period,  the  family  mansion  had  been  consigued  to  the 
charge  of  a  kinsman,  who  was  allowed  to  make  it  his 
home,  for  the  time  being,  in  consideration  of  keeping  the 
premises  in  thorough  repair.  So  faithfully  had  this  con- 
tract been  fulfilled,  that  now,  as  the  carpenter  approached 
the  house,  his  practised  eye  could  detect  nothing  to  criti- 
cise in  its  condition.  The  peaks  of  the  seven  gables  rose 
up  sharply ;  the  shingled  roof  looked  thoroughly  water- 
tight; and  the  glittering  plaster-work  entirely  covered 
the  exterior  walls,  and  sparkled  in  the  October  sun,  as  if 
it  had  been  new  only  a  week  ago. 

The  house  had  that  pleasant  aspect  of  life  which  is  like 
the  cheery  expression  of  comfortable  activity  in  the  hu- 
man countenance.  You  could  see,  at  once,  that  there 
was  the  stir  of  a  large  family  within  it.  A  huge  load  of 
oak-wood  was  passing  through  the  gateway,  towards  the 
outbuildings  in  the  rear ;  the  fat  cook  —  or  probably  it 
might  be  the  housekeeper  —  stood  at  the  side  door,  bar- 
gaining for  some  turkeys  and  poultry,  which  a  country- 
man had  brought  for  sale.  Now  and  then,  a  maid-servant, 
neatly  dressed,  and  now  the  shining  sable  face  of  a  slave, 
might  be  seen  bustling  across  the  windows,  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  house.  At  an  open  window  of  a  room  in  the 
second  story,  hanging  over  some  pots  of  beautiful  and 
delicate  flowers,  —  exotics,  but  which  had  never  known  a 
more  genial  sunshine  than  that  of  the  New  England  au- 
tumn, —  was  the  figure  of  a  young  lady,  an  exotic,  like 
the  flowers,  and  beautiful  and  delicate  as  they.  Ilcr  pres- 
ence imparted  an  indescribable  grace  and  faint  witchery 
to  the  whole  edifice.    In  other  respects,  it  was  a  sub- 


220   THE  HOUSE  OP  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

stantial,  jolly-looking  mansion,  and  seemed  fit  to  be  tlie 
residence  of  a  patriarch,  "who  might  establish  his  own 
headquarters  in  the  front  gable,  and  assign  one  of  the 
remainder  to  each  of  his  six  children ;  while  the  great 
chimney  in  the  centre  should  symbohze  the  old  fellow's 
hospitable  heart,  which  kept  them  all  warm,  and  made  a 
great  whole  of  the  seven  smaller  ones. 

There  was  a  vertical  sundial  on  the  front  gable ;  and 
as  the  carpenter  passed  beneath  it,  he  looked  up  and 
noted  the  hour. 

"  Three  o'clock  !  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  My  father 
told  me  that  dial  was  put  up  only  an  hour  before  the  old 
Colonel's  death.  How  truly  it  has  kept  time  these  seven- 
and-thirty  years  past !  The  shadow  creeps  and  creeps, 
and  is  always  looking  over  the  shoulder  of  the  sunshine  !  " 

It  might  have  befitted  a  craftsman,  like  Matthew  Maule, 
on  being  sent  for  to  a  gentleman's  house,  to  go  to  the 
back  door,  where  servants  and  work-people  were  usually 
admitted;  or  at  least  to  the  side  entrance,  where  the  bet- 
ter class  of  tradesmen  made  application.  But  the  carpen- 
ter had  a  great  deal  of  pride  and  stiffness  in  his  nature ; 
and,  at  this  moment,  moreover,  his  heart  was  bitter 
with  the  sense  of  hereditary  wrong,  because  he  con- 
sidered the  great  Pyncheon  House  to  be  standing  on 
soil  Yv'hich  should  have  been  his  ovra..  On  this  very  site, 
beside  a  spring  of  delicious  water,  his  grandfather  had 
felled  the  pine-trees  and  built  a  cottage,  in  which  children 
had  been  born  to  him  ;  and  it  was  only  from  a  dead  man's 
stiffened  fingers  that  Colonel  Pyncheon  had  wrested  away 
the  title-deeds.  So  young  Maule  went  straight  to  the 
principal  entrance,  beneath  a  portal  of  carved  oak,  and 
gave  such  a  peal  of  the  iron  knocker  that  you  would  have 
imagined  the  stern  old  wizard  himself  to  be  standing  at 
the  threshold. 


ALICE   PYNCHEON.  221 

Black  Scipio  answered  the  summons,  in  a  prodigious 
hurry ;  but  showed  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  in  amazement, 
on  beholding  only  the  carpenter, 

"Lord-a-mercy  !  what  a  great  man  he  be,  this  car- 
penter fellow ! "  mumbled  Scipio,  down  in  his  throat. 
"  Anybody  think  he  beat  on  the  door  with  his  biggest 
hammer !  " 

"  Here  I  am  !  "  said  Maule,  sternly.  "  Show  me  the 
way  to  your  master's  parlor !  " 

As  he  stept  into  the  house,  a  note  of  sweet  and  mel- 
ancholy music  thrilled  and  vibrated  along  the  passage- 
way, proceeding  from  one  of  the  rooms  above  stairs.  It 
was  the  harpsichord  which  Alice  Pyncheon  had  brought 
with  her  from  beyond  the  sea.  The  fair  Alice  bestowed 
most  of  her  maiden  leisure  between  flowers  and  music, 
although  the  former  were  apt  to  droop,  and  the  melodies' 
were  often  sad.  She  was  of  foreign  education,  and  could 
not  take  kindly  to  the  New  England  modes  of  life,  in 
which  nothing  beautiful  had  ever  been  developed. 

As  Mr.  Pyncheon  had  been  impatiently  awaiting 
Maide's  arrival,  black  Scipio,  of  course,  lost  no  time  in 
ushering  the  carpenter  into  his  master's  presence.  The 
room  in  which  this  gentleman  sat  was  a  parlor  of  moder- 
ate size,  looking  out  upon  the  garden  of  the  house,  and 
having  its  windows  partly  shadowed  by  the  foliage  of 
fruit-trees.  It  was  Mr.  Pyncheon's  peculiar  apartment, 
and  was  provided  with  furniture,  in  an  elegant  and  costly 
style,  principally  from  Paris ;  the  floor  (which  was  un- 
usual, at  that  day)  being  covered  with  a  carpet,  so  skil- 
fully and  richly  wrought,  that  it  seemed  to  glow  as  with 
living  flowers.  In  one  corner  stood  a  marble  woman,  to 
whom  her  own  beauty  was  tlie  sole  and  sufficient  gar- 
ment. Some  pictures  —  that  looked  old,  and  had  a  mel- 
low tinge  diffused  through   all   their   artful  splendor — 


22^   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

hung  on  the  walls.  Near  the  fireplace  was  a  large  and 
very  beautiful  cabinet  of  ebony,  inlaid  with  ivory ;  a  piece 
of  antique  furniture,  which  Mr.  Pyncheou  had  bought  m 
Venice,  and  which  he  used  as  the  treasure-place  for  med- 
als, ancient  coins,  and  whatever  small  and  valuable  curi- 
osities he  had  picked  up,  on  his  travels.  Through  all 
this  variety  of  decoration,  however,  the  room  showed  its 
original  characteristics ;  its  low  stud,  its  cross-beam,  its 
chimney-piece,  with  the  old-fashioned  Dutch  tiles;  so 
that  it  was  the  emblem  of  a  mind  industriously  stored 
with  foreign  ideas,  and  elaborated  into  artificial  refine- 
ment, but  neither  larger,  nor,  in  its  proper  self,  more 
elegant  than  before. 

There  were  two  objects  that  appeared  rather  out  of 
place  in  this  very  handsomely  furnished  room.  One  was 
a  large  map,  or  surveyor's  plan,  of  a  tract  of  land,  which 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  drawn  a  jood  many  years  ago, 
and  was  now  dingy  with  smoke,  and  soiled,  here  and 
tliere,  with  the  touch  of  fingers.  The  other  was  a  por- 
trait of  a  stem  old  man,  in  a  Puritan  garb,  painted 
roughly,  but  with  a  bold  efi'ect,  and  a  remarkably  strong 
expression  of  character. 

At  a  small  table,  before  a  fire  of  English  sea-coal,  sat 
Mr.  Pyncheon,  sipping  cofi'ee,  which  had  grown  to  be  a 
very  favorite  beverage  with  him  in  France.  He  was  a 
middle-aged  and  really  handsome  man,  with  a  wig  flow- 
ing down  upon  his  shoulders ;  his  coat  was  of  blue  vel- 
vet, with  lace  on  the  borders  and  at  the  buttonholes ; 
and  the  firelight  glistened  on  the  spacious  breadth  of  his 
waistcoat,  which  was  flowered  all  over  with  gold.  On 
the  entrance  of  Scipio,  ushering  in  the  carpenter,  Mr. 
Pyncheon  turned  partly  round,  but  resumed  his  former 
position,  and  proceeded  deliberately  to  finish  his  cup  of 
coffee,  without  immediate  notice  of  the  guest  whom  he 


A.LICE   PYNCHEON.  233 

had  summoned  to  his  presence.  It  was  not  that  he  in- 
tended any  rudeness,  or  improper  neglect,  —  which, 
indeed,  he  would  have  blushed  to  be  guilty  of,  — but  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  a  person  in  Maule's  station 
had  a  claim  on  his  courtesy,  or  would  trouble  himself 
about  it,  one  way  or  the  other. 

The  carpenter,  however,  stepped  at  once  to  the  hearth, 
and  turned  himself  about,  so  as  to  look  Mr.  Pyncheon  in 
the  face. 

"  You  sent  for  me,"  said  he.  "  Be  pleased  to  explain 
your  business,  that  I  may  go  back  to  my  own  affairs." 

"Ah!  excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Pyncheon,  quietly.  "I 
did  not  mean  to  tax  your  time  without  a  recompense. 
Your  name,  I  think,  is  Maule,  —  Thomas  or  Matthew 
Maule,  —  a  son  or  grandson  of  the  builder  of  this 
house  ?  " 

"  Matthew  Maule,"  replied  the  carpenter,  —  "  son  of 
him  who  built  the  house,  —  grandson  of  the  rightful  pro- 
prietor of  the  soil." 

"  I  know  the  dispute  to  which  you  allude,"  observed 
Mr.  Pyncheon  with  undisturbed  equanimity.  "I  am 
well  aware  that  my  grandfather  was  compelled  to  resort 
to  a  suit  at  law,  in  order  to  establish  his  claim  to  the 
foundation-site  of  this  edifice.  We  will  not,  if  you 
please,  renew  the  discussion.  The  matter  was  settled  at 
the  time,  and  by  the  competent  authorities,  —  equitably, 
it  is  to  be  presumed,  —  and,  at  all  events,  irrevocably. 
Yet,  singularly  enough,  there  is  an  incidental  reference 
to  this  very  subject  in  what  I  am  now  about  to  say  to 
you.  And  this  same  inveterate  grudge,  —  excuse  me,  I 
mean  no  offence,  —  this  irritability,  which  you  have  just 
shown,  is  not  entirely  aside  from  the  matter." 

"  If  you  can  find  anything  for  your  purpose,  Mr. 
Pyncheon,"   said  the   carpenter,  "in  a  man's  natural 


224      THE   HOUSE    OF   THE    SEVEN   GJiCLES. 

resentment  for  the  wrongs  done  tc  his  blood,  yon  are 
w^elcome  to  it  I  " 

"  I  take  you  at  your  word,  Goodman  Maule,"  said  the 
o-WTier  of  the  Seven  Gables,  with  a  smile,  "  and  will  pro- 
ceed to  suggest  a  mode  m  vvhich  your  hereditary  resent- 
ments—  justifiable,  y.:  otherwise  —  may  have  had  a 
bearing  on  my  affairs.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that 
the  PjTicheon  family,  ever  since  my  grandfather's  days, 
have  been  prosecuting  a  still  unsettled  claim  to  a  very 
large  extent  of  territory  at  the  Eastward  ?  " 

"  Often,"  replied  Maule,  —  and  it  is  said  that  a  smile 
came  over  his  face,  —  "  very  often,  —  from  my  father  !  " 

"  This  claim,"  continued  Mr.  Pyncheon,  after  pausing 
a  moment,  as  if  to  consider  what  the  carpenter's  smile 
might  mean,  "  appeared  to  be  on  the  very  verge  of  a  set- 
tlement and  full  allowance,  at  the  period  of  my  grand- 
father's decease.  It  was  well  known,  to  those  in  his  con- 
fidence, that  he  anticipated  neither  difficulty  nor  delay. 
Now,  Colonel  Pyncheon,  I  need  hardly  say,  was  a  prac- 
tical man,  well  acquainted  with  public  and  private 
business,  and  not  at  all  the  person  to  cherish  ill-founded 
hopes,  or  to  attempt  the  following  out  of  an  impracticable 
scheme.  It  is  obvious  to  conclude,  therefore,  that  he 
had  grounds,  not  apparent  to  his  heirs,  for  his  confident 
anticipation  of  success  in  the  matter  of  this  Eastern  claim. 
In  a  word,  I  believe,  —  and  my  legal  advisers  coincide  in 
the  belief,  which,  moreover,  is  authorized,  to  a  certain 
extent,  by  the  family  traditions,  —  that  my  grandfather 
was  in  possession  of  some  deed,  or  other  document,  essen- 
tial to  this  claim,  but  which  has  since  disappeared." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Matthew  Maule,  —  and  again,  it 
is  said,  there  was  a  dark  smile  on  his  face,  —  "  but  what 
can  a  poor  carpenter  have  to  do  with  the  grand  affairs  of 
the  Pyncheon  family  ?  " 


ALICE   PYNCHEON.  225 

"  Perhaps  notMiig,"  returned  Mr.  Pyncheon,  —  "  pos- 
sibly, much !  " 

Here  ensued  a  great  many  words  between  Matthew 
Maule  and  the  proprietor  of  the  Seven  Gables,  on  the 
subject  which  the  latter  had  thus  broached.  It  seems 
(although  Mr.  Pyncheon  had  some  hesitation  in  referrmg 
to  stories  so  exceedingly  absurd  in  their  aspect)  that  the 
popular  belief  poinred  to  some  mysterious  connection 
and  dependence,  existuig  between  the  family  of  the 
Maules  and  these  vast,  unrealized  possessions  of  the 
Pyncheons.  It  was  an  ordinary  saying,  that  the  old 
wizard,  hanged  though  he  was,  had  obtained  the  best 
end  of  the  bargain,  in  his  contest  with  Colonel  Pyn- 
cheon ;  inasmuch  as  he  had  got  possession  of  the  great 
Eastern  claim,  in  exchange  for  an  acre  or  two  of  garden- 
ground.  A  very  aged  woman,  recently  dead,  had  often 
used  the  metaphorical  expression,  in  her  fireside  talk, 
that  miles  and  miles  of  the  Pyncheon  lands  had  been 
shovelled  into  Maule' s  grave ;  which,  by  the  by,  was  but 
a  very  shallow  nook,  between  two  rocks,  near  the  sum- 
mit of  Gallows  Hill.  Again,  when  the  lawyers  were 
making  inquiry  for  the  missing  document,  it  was  a  by- 
word, that  it  would  never  be  found,  unless  in  the  wiz- 
ard's skeleton  hand.  So  much  weight  had  the  shrewd 
lawyers  assigned  to  these  fables,  that  (but  Mr.  Pyncheon 
did  not  see  fit  to  inform  the  carpenter  of  the  fact) 
they  had  secretly  caused  the  wizard's  grave  to  be 
searched.  Nothing  was  discovered,  however,  except  that, 
unaccountably,  the  right  hand  of  the  skeleton  was  gone. 

Now,  what  was  unquestionably  important,  a  portion 
of  these  popular  rumors  could  be  traced,  though  rather 
doubtfully  and  indistinctly,  to  chance  words  and  obscure 
hints  of  the  executed  wizard's  son,  and  the  father  of  this 
present  Matthew  Maule.    And  here  Mr.  Pyncheon  could 


226   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

bring  an  item  of  Lis  own  personal  evidence  into  play. 
Though  but  a  child  at  the  time,  he  either  remembered  or 
fancied  that  Matthew's  father  had  had  some  job  to  perform, 
on  the  day  before,  or  possibly  the  very  morning  of  the 
Colonel's  decease,  in  the  private  room  where  he  and  the 
carpenter  were  at  this  moment  talking.  Certain  papers 
belonging  to  Colonel  Pyncheon,  as  his  grandson  distinctly 
recollected,  had  been  spread  out  on  the  table. 

Matthew  Maule  understood  the  insinuated  suspicion. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  —  but  still  there  was  that  dark 
smile,  making  a  riddle  of  his  countenance,  —  "  my  father 
was  an  honester  man  than  the  bloody  old  Colonel !  Not 
to  get  his  rights  back  again  would  he  have  carried  off 
one  of  those  papers  !  " 

"  I  shall  not  bandy  words  with  you,"  observed  the 
foreign-bred  Mr.  Pyncheon,  with  haughty  composure. 
"  Nor  wHl  it  become  me  to  resent  any  rudeness  towards 
either  my  grandfather  or  myself.  A  gentleman,  before 
seekuig  intercourse  with  a  person  of  your  station  and 
habits,  will  first  consider  whether  the  urgency  of  the 
end  may  compensate  for  the  disagreeableness  of  the 
means.     It  does  so  in  the  present  instance." 

He  then  renewed  the  conversation,  and  made  great 
pecuniary  offers  to  the  carpenter,  in  case  the  latter 
should  give  mformation  leading  to  the  discovery  of  the 
lost  document,  and  the  consequent  success  of  the  Eastern 
claim.  For  a  long  time  Matthew  Maule  is  said  to  have 
turned  a  cold  ear  to  these  propositions.  At  last,  how- 
ever, with  a  strange  kind  of  laugh,  he  inquired  whether 
Mr.  Pyncheon  would  make  over  to  him  the  old  wizard's 
homestead-ground,  together  with  the  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  now  standing  on  it,  in  requital  of  the  document- 
ary evidence  so  urgently  required. 

The  wild,  chimney-comer  legend  (which,  without  copy- 


ALICE   PYNCHEON.  227 

ing  all  its  extravagances,  my  narrative  essentially  fol- 
lows) Lere  gives  au  account  of  some  very  strange  be- 
havior on  the  part  of  Colonel  Pyncheon's  portrait.  This 
picture,  it  must  be  understood,  was  supposed  to  be  so 
intimately  connected  with  the  fate  of  the  house,  and  so 
magically  built  into  its  walls,  that,  if  once  it  should  be 
removed,  that  very  instant  the  whole  edifice  would  come 
thundering  down  m  a  heap  of  dusty  ruin.  All  through 
the  foregoing  conversation  between  Mr.  Pyncheou  and 
the  carpenter,  the  portrait  had  been  frowning,  clenching 
its  fist,  and  giving  many  such  proofs  of  excessive  dis- 
composure, but  without  attracting  the  notice  of  either 
of  the  two  coUoquists.  And  finally,  at  Matthew  Maule's 
audacious  suggestion  of  a  transfer  of  the  seven-gabled 
structure,  the  ghostly  portrait  is  averred  to  have  lost  all 
patience,  and  to  have  shown  itself  on  the  point  of  de- 
scending bodily  from  its  frame.  But  such  incredible 
incidents  are  merely  to  be  mentioned  aside. 

"  Give  up  this  house  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pyncheon,  in 
amazement  at  the  proposal.  "Were  I  to  do  so,  my 
grandfather  would  not  rest  quiet  in  his  grave  ! " 

"  He  never  has,  if  all  stories  are  true,"  remarked  the 
carpenter,  composedly.  "  But  that  matter  concerns  his 
grandson  more  than  it  does  Matthew  Maule.  I  have  no 
other  terms  to  propose." 

Impossible  as  he  at  first  thought  it  to  comply  with 
Maule's  conditions,  still,  on  a  second  glance,  Mr.  Pyn- 
cheon was  of  opinion  that  they  might  at  least  be  made 
matter  of  discussion.  He  himself  had  no  personal  at- 
tachment for  tlie  house,  nor  any  pleasant  associations 
connected  with  his  childish  residence  in  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, after  seven-and-thirty  years,  the  presence  of  his 
dead  grandfather  seemed  still  to  pervade  it,  as  on  that 
morning  when  the  affrighted  boy  had  beheld  him,  with 


228   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

SO  gliastly  an  aspect,  stiifeuing  iu  bis  chair.  His  long 
abode  in  foreign  parts,  moreover,  and  familiarity  with 
many  of  the  castles  and  ancestral  halls  of  England,  and 
the  marble  palaces  of  Italy,  had  caused  him  to  look  con- 
temptuously at  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  whether 
in  point  of  splendor  or  convenience.  It  was  a  mansion 
exceedingly  inadequate  to  the  style  of  Hving  which  it 
would  be  incumbent  on  Mr.  Pyncheon  to  support,  after 
realizing  his  territorial  rights.  His  steward  might  deign 
to  occupy  it,  but  never,  certainly,  the  great  landed  pro- 
prietor himself.  In  the  event  of  success,  indeed,  it  was 
his  purpose  to  return  to  England ;  nor,  to  say  the  truth, 
would  he  recently  have  quitted  that  m^ore  congenial 
home,  had  not  his  own  fortune,  as  well  as  his  deceased 
wife's,  begun  to  give  symptoms  of  exhaustion.  The  East- 
ern claim  once  fairly  settled,  and  put  upon  the  firm  basis 
of  actual  possession,  Mr.  Pyncheon's  property  —  to  be 
measured  by  miles,  not  acres  —  would  be  worth  an  earl- 
dom and  would  reasonably  entitle  him  to  soUcit,  or 
enable  him  to  purchase,  that  elevated  dignity  from  the 
British  monarch.  Lord  Pyncheon!  —  or  the  Earl  of 
Waldo !  —  how  could  such  a  magnate  be  expected  to 
contract  his  grandeur  within  the  pitiful  compass  of  seven 
shingled  gables  ? 

In  short,  on  an  enlarged  view  of  the  business,  the  car- 
penter's terms  appeared  so  ridiculously  easy,  that  Mr. 
Pyncheon  could  scarcely  forbear  laughing  in  his  face. 
He  was  quite  ashamed,  after  the  foregoing  reflections, 
to  propose  any  diminution  of  so  moderate  a  recompense 
for  the  immense  service  to  be  rendered. 

"  I  consent  to  your  proposition,  Maule,"  cried  he. 
"  Put  me  in  possession  of  the  document  essential  to  es- 
tablish my  rights,  and  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables 
is  your  own !  " 


ALICE  PYNCHEON.  229 

According  to  some  versions  of  the  story,  a  regular 
contract  to  the  above  effect  was  drawn  up  by  a  lawyer, 
and  signed  and  sealed  in  the  presence  of  witnesses. 
Others  say  that  Matthew  Maule  was  contented  with  a 
private  written  agreement,  in  which  Mr.  Pyncheon 
pledged  his  Tionor  and  integrity  to  the  fulfilment  of  the 
terms  concluded  upon.  The  gentleman  then  ordered 
wine,  which  he  and  the  carpenter  drank  together,  in  con- 
firmation of  their  bargain.  During  the  whole  preceding 
discussion  and  subsequent  formalities,  the  old  Puritan's 
portrait  seems  to  have  persisted  in  its  shadowy  gestures 
of  disapproval ;  but  without  effect,  except  that,  as  Mr. 
Pyncheon  set  down  the  emptied  glass,  he  thought  he 
beheld  his  grandfather  frown. 

"  This  sherry  is  too  potent  a  wine  for  me  •;  it  has  af- 
fected my  brain  already,"  he  observed,  after  a  somewhat 
startled  look  at  the  picture.  "  On  returning  to  Europe,  I 
shall  confine  myself  to  the  more  delicate  vintages  of  Italy 
and  Prance,  the  best  of  which  will  not  bear  transportation." 

"My  Lord  Pyncheon  may  drink  what  wine  he  will, 
and  wherever  he  pleases,"  replied  the  carpenter,  as  if  he 
had  been  privy  to  Mr.  Pyncheon's  ambitious  proj.ects. 
*'But  first,  sir,  if  you  desire  tidings  of  this  lost  docu- 
ment, I  must  crave  the  favor  of  a  little  talk  with  your 
fair  daughter  Alice." 

"  You  are  mad,  Maule ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pyncheon, 
haughtily ;  and  now,  at  last,  there  was  anger  mixed  up 
with  his  pride.  "What  can  my  daughter  have  to  do 
with  a  business  like  this?" 

Indeed,  at  this  new  demand  on  the  carpenter's  part, 
the  proprietor  of  the  Seven  Gables  was  even  more  thun- 
der-struck than  at  the  cool  proposition  to  surrender  his 
house.  There  was,  at  least,  an  assignable  motive  for  the 
first  stipulation;  there  appeared  to  be  none  whatever 


230   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

for  the  last.  Nevertheless,  Matthew  Maule  sturdily  in- 
sisted on  the  young  lady  being  summoned,  and  even 
gave  her  father  to  ujiderstand,  in  a  mysterious  kind  of 
explanation,  —  which  made  the  matter  considerably  darker 
than  it  looked  before,  —  that  the  onlv  chance  of  acquiring 
the  requisite  knowledge  was  through  the  clear,  crystal 
medium  of  a  pure  and  virgin  intelligence,  like  that  of 
the  fair  Ahce.  Not  to  encumber  our  story  with  Mr. 
Pyncheon's  scruples,  whether  of  conscience,  pride,  or 
fatherly  affection,  he  at  length  ordered  his  daughter  to 
be  called.  He  well  knew  that  she  was  in  her  chamber, 
and  engaged  in  no  occupation  that  could  not  readily  be 
laid  aside ;  for,  as  it  happened,  ever  since  Alice's  name 
had  been  spoken,  both  her  father  and  the  carpenter  had 
heard  the  sad  and  sweet  music  of  her  harpsichord,  and 
the  airier  melancholy  of  her  accompanying  voice. 

So  Alice  Pyncheon  was  summoned,  and  appeared.  A 
portrait  of  this  young  lady,  painted  by  a  Venetian  artist, 
and  left  by  her  father  in  England,  is  said  to  have  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  the  present  Duke  of  Devonshire,  and 
to  be  now  preserved  at  Chatsworth ;  not  on  account  of 
any  associations  with  the  original,  but  for  its  value  as  a 
picture,  and  the  high  character  of  beauty  in  the  counte- 
nance. If  ever  there  was  a  lady  born,  and  set  apart 
from  the  world's  vulgar  mass  by  a  certain  gentle  and 
cold  stateliness,  it  was  this  very  Alice  Pyncheon.  Yet 
there  was  the  womanly  mixture  in  her;  the  tenderness, 
or,  at  least,  the  tender  capabihties.  For  the  sake  of  that 
redeeming  quality,  a  man  of  generous  nature  would  liave 
forgiven  all  her  pride,  and  have  been  content,  almost,  to 
lie  down  in  her  path,  and  let  Alice  set  her  slender  foot 
upon  his  heart.  All  that  he  would  have  required,  was 
simply  the  acknowledgment  that  he  was  indeed  a  man, 
and  a  fellow-being,  moulded  of  the  same  elements  as  she» 


ALICE   PYNCHEON.  231 

As  Alice  came  into  the  room,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
carpenter,  who  was  standing  near  its  centre,  clad  in  a 
green  woollen  jacket,  a  pair  of  loose  breeches,  open  at  the 
knees,  and  with  a  long  pocket  for  his  rule,  the  end  of 
which  protruded ;  it  was  as  proper  a  mark  of  the  artisan's 
calhng,  as  Mr.  Pjncheon's  full-dress  sword  of  that  gen- 
tleman's aristocratic  pretensions.  A  glow  of  artistic  ap- 
proval brightened  over  Alice  Pyncheon's  face;  she  was 
struck  with  admiration  —  which  she  made  no  attempt  to 
conceal  —  of  the  remarkable  comeliness,  strength,  and 
energy  of  Maule's  figure.  But  that  admiring  glance 
(which  most  other  men,  perhaps,  would  have  cherished  as 
a  sweet  recollection,  all  through  life)  the  carpenter  never 
forgave.  It  must  have  been  the  devil  himself  that  made 
Maule  so  subtile  in  his  perception. 

"  Does  the  girl  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  brute  beast  ?  '* 
thought  he,  setting  his  teeth.  "  She  shall  know  whether 
I  have  a  human  spirit ;  and  the  worse  for  her,  if  it  prove 
stronger  than  her  own !  " 

"My  father,  you  sent  for  me,"  said  Alice,  in  her  sweet 
and  harp-like  voice.  "But,  if  you  have  business  with 
this  young  man,  pray  let  me  go  again.  You  know  I  do 
not  love  this  room,  in  spite  of  that  Claude,  with  which 
you  try  to  bring  back  sunny  recollections." 

"  Stay  a  moment,  young  lady,  if  you  please !  "  said 
Matthew  Maule.  "  My  business  with  your  father  is  over. 
With  yourself,  it  is  now  to  begin  !  " 

Alice  looked  towards  her  father,  in  surprise  and  in- 
quiry. 

"  Yes,  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Pyncheon,  with  some  disturb- 
ance and  confusion.  "  This  young  man  —  his  name  is 
Matthew  Maule  —  professes,  so  far  as  I  can  understand 
him,  to  be  able  to  discover,  through  your  means,  a  cer- 
tain paper  or  parchment,  which  was  missing  long  before 


232   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

your  birth.  The  importance  of  the  document  in  question 
renders  it  advisable  to  neglect  no  possible,  even  if  improb- 
able, method  of  regaining  it.  You  will  therefore  oblige 
me,  my  dear  Alice,  by  answering  this  person's  inquiries, 
and  complying  with  his  lawful  and  reasonable  requests,  so 
far  as  they  may  appear  to  have  the  aforesaid  object  in 
view.  As  I  shall  remain  in  the  room,  you  need  apprehend 
no  rude  nor  unbecommg  deportment,  on  the  young  man's 
part ;  and,  at  your  shghtest  wish,  of  course,  the  investi- 
gation, or  whatever  we  may  call  it,  shall  immediately  be 
broken  off. 

*'  Mistress  Alice  Pyncheon,"  remarked  Matthew  Maule, 
with  the  utmost  deference,  but  yet  a  half-hidden  sarcasm 
in  his  look  and  tone,  "will  no  doubt  feel  herself  quite 
safe  in  her  father's  presence,  and  under  his  all-sufficient 
protection." 

"  I  certainly  shall  entertain  no  manner  of  apprehension, 
with  my  father  at  hand,"  said  Alice,  with  maidenly  dig- 
nity. "  Neither  do  I  conceive  that  a  lady,  while  true  to 
herself,  can  have  aught  to  fear  from  whomsoever,  or  in 
any  circumstances ! " 

Poor  Alice  !  By  what  unhappy  impulse  did  she  thus 
put  herself  at  once  on  terms  of  defiance  against  a  strength 
which  she  could  not  estimate  ? 

"  Then,  Mistress  AHce,"  said  Matthew  Maule,  handing 
a  chair,  —  gracefully  enough,  for  a  craftsman,  —  "  will  it 
please  you  only  to  sit  down,  and  do  me  the  favor  (though 
altogether  beyond  a  poor  carpenter's  deserts)  to  fix  your 
eyes  on  mine  !  " 

Alice  complied.  She  was  very  proud.  Setting  aside 
all  advantages  of  rank,  this  fair  girl  deemed  herself  con- 
scious of  a  power  —  combined  of  beauty,  high,  unsullied 
purity,  and  the  preservative  force  of  womanhood  —  that 
could  make  her  sphere  impenetrable,  unless  betrayed  by 


ALICE    PYNCHEON.  233 

treachery  mthin.  She  instinctively  knew,  it  may  he,  that 
some  sinister  or  evil  potency  was  now  striving  to  pass  her 
barriers ;  nor  would  she  decline  the  contest.  So  Alice 
put  woman's  might  against  man's  might ;  a  match  not 
often  equal,  on  the  part  of  woman. 

Her  father,  meanwhile,  had  turned  away,  and  seemed 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  a  landscape  by  Claude, 
where  a  shadowy  and  sun-streaked  vista  penetrated  so 
remotely  into  an  ancient  wood,  that  it  would  have  been 
no  wonder  if  his  fancy  had  lost  itself  in  the  picture's  be- 
wildering depths.  But,  in  truth,  the  picture  was  no  more 
to  him,  at  that  moment,  than  the  blank  wall  against  which 
it  hung.  His  mind  was  haunted  with  the  many  and 
strange  tales  which  he  had  heard,  attributing  mysterious 
if  not  supernatural  endowments  to  these  Maules,  as  well 
the  grandson,  here  present,  as  his  two  immediate  ances- 
tors. Mr.  Pyncheon's  long  residence  abroad,  and  in- 
tercourse with  men  of  wit  and  fashion,  —  courtiers, 
worldlings,  and  free-thinkers,  —  had  done  much  towards 
obliterating  the  grim  Puritan  superstitions,  which  no 
man  of  New  England  birth,  at  that  early  period,  could 
entirely  escape.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  had  not  a  whole 
community  beheved  Maule's  grandfather  to  be  a  wizard  ? 
Had  not  the  crime  been  proved  ?  Had  not  the  wizard 
died  for  it  ?  Had  he  not  bequeathed  a  legacy  of  hatred 
agamst  the  Pyncheons  to  this  only  grandson,  who,  as  it 
appeared,  was  now  about  to  exercise  a  subtle  influence 
over  the  daughter  of  his  enemy's  house  ?  Might  not 
this  influence  be  the  same  that  was  called  witchcraft  ? 

Turning  half  around,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Maule's 
figure  in  the  looking-glass.  At  some  paces  from  Alice, 
with  his  arms  upHfted  in  the  air,  the  carpenter  made  a 
gesture,  as  if  directing  downward  a  slow,  ponderous,  and 
invisible  weight  upon  the  maiden. 


234   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  Stay,  Maule ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pjiicheon,  stepping 
forward.     "  I  forbid  your  proceeding  further  !  " 

"  Pray,  my  dear  father,  do  not  interrupt  the  young 
man,"  said  Alice,  without  changing  her  position.  "  His 
efforts,  I  assure  you,  will  prove  very  harmless." 

Again  Mr.  Pyncheon  turned  his  eyes  towards  the 
Claude.  It  was  then  his  daughter's  will,  in  opposition 
to  his  own,  that  the  experiment  should  be  fully  tried. 
Henceforth,  therefore,  he  did  but  consent,  not  urge  it. 
And  was  it  not  for  her  sake,  far  more  than  for  his  own, 
that  he  desired  its  success  ?  That  lost  parchment  once 
restored,  the  beautiful  AHce  Pyncheon,  with  the  rich 
dowry  which  he  could  then  bestow,  might  wed  an  Eng- 
lish duke  or  a  German  reigning-prince,  instead  of  some 
New  England  clergyman  or  lawyer !  At  the  thought,  the 
ambitious  father  almost  consented,  in  his  heart,  that,  if 
the  devil's  power  were  needed  to  the  accomplishment  of 
this  great  object,  Maule  might  evoke  him.  Ahce's  own 
purity  would  be  her  safeguard. 

With  his  mind  full  of  imaginary  magnificence,  Mr. 
Pyncheon  heard  a  half-uttered  exclamation  from  his 
daughter.  It  was  very  faint  and  low ;  so  indistinct  that 
there  seemed  but  half  a  wiU  to  shape  out  the  words,  and 
too  undefined  a  purport  to  be  intelligible.  Yet  it  was  a 
call  for  help  !  —  his  conscience  never  doubted  it ;  —  and, 
little  more  than  a  whisper  to  his  ear,  it  was  a  dismal 
shriek,  and  long  re-echoed  so,  in  the  region  round  Ms 
heart !     But,  this  time,  the  father  did  not  turn. 

After  a  further  interval,  Maule  spoke. 

"  Behold  your  daughter  !  "  said  he. 

Mr.  Pyncheon  came  hastily  forward.  The  carpenter 
was  standing  erect  in  front  of  Alice's  chair,  and  pomting 
his  finger  towards  the  maiden  with  an  expression  of  tri- 
umphant power,  the  limits  of  which  could  not  be  defined, 


ALICE    PYNCHEON.  235 

as,  indeed,  its  scope  stretclied  vaguely  towards  the  un.- 
seen  and  the  infinite.  Alice  sat  in  an  attitude  of  pro- 
found repose,  with  the  long  brown  lashes  drooping  over 
her  eyes, 

"  There  she  is  !  "said  the  carpenter.     "  Speak  to  her !  " 

"  Alice  !  My  daughter ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pyncheon. 
"  My  own  Alice ! "  _^ 

She  did  not  stir. 

"  Louder  !  "  said  Maule,  smiling. 

"  Alice  !  Awake  !  "  cried  her  father.  "  It  troubles 
me  to  see  you  thus  !     Awake  !  " 

He  spoke  loudly,  with  terror  in  his  voice,  and  close  to 
that  delicate  ear,  which  had  always  been  so  sensitive  to 
every  discord.  But  the  sound  evidently  reached  her  not. 
It  is  indescribable  what  a  sense  of  remote,  dim,  unattain- 
able distance,  betwixt  himself  and  Alice,  was  impressed 
on  the  father  by  this  impossibility  of  reaching  her  with 
his  voice. 

*'  Best  touch  her !  "  said  Matthew  Maule.  "  Shake  the 
girl,  and  roughly  too  !  My  hands  are  hardened  with  too 
much  use  of  axe,  saw,  and  plane,  —  else  I  might  help 
you ! " 

Mr.  Pyncheon  took  her  hand,  and  pressed  it  with  the 
earnestness  of  startled  emotion.  He  kissed  her,  with  so 
great  a  heart-throb  in  the  kiss,  that  he  thought  she  must 
needs  feel  it.  Then,  in  a  gust  of  anger  at  her  insensi- 
bility, he  shook  her  maiden  form,  with  a  violence  which, 
the  next  moment,  it  affrighted  him  to  remember.  He 
withdrew  his  encircUng  arms,  and  Ahce  —  whose  figure, 
though  flexible,  had  been  wholly  impassive  —  relapsed 
into  the  same  attitude  as  before  these  attempts  to  arouse 
her.  Maule  having  shifted  liis  position,  her  face  was 
turned  towards  him,  slightly,  but  with  what  seemed  to  be 
a  reference  of  her  very  slumber  to  his  guidance. 


236   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Then  it  was  a  strange  sight  to  behold  how  the  man  of 
conventionalities  shook  the  powder  ont  of  his  periwig ; 
how  the  reserved  and  stately  gentleman  forgot  his  dig- 
nity ;  how  the  gold-embroidered  waistcoat  flickered  and 
glistened  in  the  firelight,  with  the  convulsion  of  rage, 
terror,  and  sorrow,  in  the  human  heart  that  was  beating 
under  it. 

*~"  Villain  !  "  cried  Mr.  Pyncheon,  shaking  his  clenched 
fist  at  Maule.  "  You  and  the  fiend  together  have  robbed 
me  of  my  daughter !  Give  her  back,  spawn  of  the  old 
wizard,  or  you  shall  chmb  Gallows  Hill  in  your  grand- 
father's footsteps  !  " 

"  Softly,  Mr.  Pyncheon ! "  said  the  carpenter,  with 
scornful  composure.  "  Softly,  an'  it  please  your  wor- 
ship, else  you  will  spoil  those  rich  lace  rufiles  at  your 
wrists  !  Is  it  my  crime  if  you  have  sold  your  daughter 
for  the  mere  hope  of  getting  a  sheet  of  yellow  parchment 
into  your  clutch?  There  sits  Mistress  Ahce,  quietly 
asleep  !  Now  let  Matthew  Maule  try  whether  she  be  as 
proud  as  the  carpenter  found  her  awhile  smce," 

He  spoke,  and  Ahce  responded,  with  a  soft,  subdued, 
inward  acquiescence,  and  a  bending  of  her  form  towards 
him,  Hke  the  fiame  of  a  torch  when  it  indicates  a  gentle 
draught  of  air.  He  beckoned  vdih  his  hand,  and,  rising 
from  her  chair,  —  blindly,  but  undoubtingly,  as  tending 
to  her  sure  and  inevitable  centre,  —  the  proud  Alice  ap- 
proached him.  He  waved  her  back,  and,  retreating, 
Ahce  sank  again  into  her  seat. 

"  She  is  mine  !  "  said  Matthew  Maule.  "  Mine,  by  the 
right  of  the  strongest  spirit !  " 

In  the  further  progress  of  the  legend,  there  is  a  long, 
grotesque,  and  occasionally  awe-striking  account  of  the 
carpenter's  incantations  (if  so  they  are  to  be  called),  with 
a  view  of  discovering  the  lost  document.     It  appears  to 


ALICE   PYNCHEON.  237 

have  been  his  object  to  convert  the  mind  of  Alice  into  a 
kind  of  telescopic  medium,  through  which  Mr.  Pyncheon 
and  himself  might  obtain  a  ghmpse  into  the  spiritual 
world.  He  succeeded,  accordingly,  in  holding  an  imper- 
fect sort  of  intercourse,  at  one  remove,  with  the  departed 
personages,  in  whose  custody  the  so  much  valued  secret 
had  been  carried  beyond  the  precincts  of  earth.  During 
her  trance,  Alice  described  three  figures  as  being  present 
to  her  spiritualized  perception.  One  was  an  aged,  digni- 
fied, stern-looking  gentleman,  clad,  as  for  a  solemn  festi- 
val, in  grave  and  costly  attire,  but  with  a  great  blood- 
stain on  his  richly  wrought  band ;  the  second,  an  aged 
man,  meanly  dressed,  with  a  dark  and  malign  counte- 
nance, and  a  broken  halter  about  his  neck ;  the  third,  a 
person  not  so  advanced  in  life  as  the  former  two,  but 
beyond  the  middle  age,  wearing  a  coarse  woollen  tunic 
and  leather  breeches,  and  with  a  carpenter's  rule  sticking 
out  of  his  side  pocket.  These  three  visionary  characters 
possessed  a  mutual  knowledge  of  the  missing  document. 
One  of  them,  in  truth,  —  it  was  he  with  the  blood-stain 
on  his  band,  —  seemed,  unless  his  gestures  were  misun- 
derstood, to  hold  the  parchment  in  his  immediate  keep- 
ing, but  was  prevented,  by  his  two  partners  in  the  mystery, 
from  disburdening  himself  of  the  trust.  Finally,  when 
he  showed  a  purpose  of  shouting  forth  the  secret,  loudly 
enough  to  be  heard  from  his  own  sphere  into  that  of 
mortals,  his  companions  struggled  with  him,  and  pressed 
their  hands  over  his  mouth  ;  and  forthwith  —  whether 
that  he  were  choked  by  it,  or  that  the  secret  itself  was  of 
a  crimson  hue  —  there  was  a  fresh  flow  of  blood  upon 
his  band.  Upon  this,  the  two  meanly  dressed  figures 
mocked  and  jeered  at  the  much-abashed  old  dignitary, 
and  pointed  their  fingers  at  the  stain. 

At  this  juncture,  Maule  turned  to  Mr.  Pyncheon. 


238   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  It  will  never  be  allowed,"  said  he.  "  The  custody 
of  this  secret,  that  would  so  enrich  his  heirs,  makes  part 
of  your  grandfather's  retribution.  He  must  choke  with 
it  until  it  is  no  longer  of  any  value.  And  keep  you  the 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables  !  It  is  too  dear  bouglit  an 
inheritance,  and  too  heavy  with  the  curse  upon  it,  to  be 
shifted  yet  awhile  from  the  Colonel's  posterity  !  " 

Mr.  Pyncheon  tried  to  speak,  but  —  what  with  fear 
and  passion  —  could  make  only  a  gurgling  murmur  in 
his  throat.     The  carpenter  smiled. 

"  Aha,  worshipful  sir !  —  so,  you  have  old  Maule's 
blood  to  drink  !  "  said  he,  jeeringly. 

"  riend  in  man's  shape  !  why  dost  thou  keep  dominion 
over  my  child  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Pyncheon,  when  his  choked 
utterance  could  make  way.  "  Give  me  back  my  daugh- 
ter !  Then  go  thy  ways ;  and  may  we  never  meet 
again  ! " 

"  Your  daughter !  "  said  Matthew  Maule.  "  Why,  she 
is  fairly  mine  !  Nevertheless,  not  to  be  too  hard  with 
fair  Mistress  Alice,  I  will  leave  her  in  your  keeping ;  but 
I  do  not  warrant  you  that  she  shall  never  have  occasion 
to  remember  Maule,  the  carpenter." 

He  waved  his  hands  with  an  upward  motion;  and, 
after  a  few  repetitions  of  similar  gestures,  the  beautiful 
Alice  Pyncheon  awoke  from. her  strange  trance.  She 
awoke,  without  the  slightest  recollection  of  her  visionary 
experience  ;  but  as  one  losing  herself  in  a  momentary 
revery,  and  returning  to  the  consciousness  of  actual  life, 
in  almost  as  brief  an  interval  as  the  down-sinking  flame 
of  the  heartli  should  quiver  again  up  the  chimney.  On 
recognizing  Matthew  Maule,  she  assumed  an  air  of  some- 
what cold  but  gentle  dignity,  the  rather,  as  there  was  a 
certain  peculiar  smile  on  the  carpenter's  visage,  that 
stirred  the  native  pride  of  the  fair  Alice.     So  ended,  for 


ALICE    PYNCHEON.  239 

that  time,  the  quest  for  the  lost  title-deed  of  the  Pyncheou 
territory  at  the  Eastward  ;  nor,  though  often  subsequent- 
ly renewed,  has  it  ever  yet  befallen  a  Pyncheon  to  set 
his  eye  upon  tha|,parchment. 

But,  alas  for  the  beautiful,  the  gentle,  yet  too  haughty 
Alice !  A  power  that  she  little  dreamed  of  had  laid  its 
grasp  upon  her  maiden  soul.  A  will,  most  unUke  her 
own,  constrained  her  to  do  its  grotesque  and  fantastic 
bidding.  Her  father,  as  it  proved,  had  martyred  his 
poor  child  to  an  inordinate  desire  for  measuring  his  land 
by  miles,  instead  of  acres.  And,  therefore,  while  Alice 
Pyncheon  lived,  she  was  Maule's  slave,  in  a  bondage 
more  humiliating,  a  thousand-fold,  than  that  which  binds 
its  chain  around  the  body.  Seated  by  his  humble  fire- 
side, Maule  had  but  to  wave  his  hand ;  and,  wherever 
the  proud  lady  chanced  to  be,  —  whether  in  her  chamber, 
or  entertaining  her  father's  stately  guests,  or  worshipping 
at  church,  —  whatever  her  place  or  occupation,  her  spirit 
passed  from  beneath  her  own  control,  and  bowed  itself 
to  Maule.  "  AUce,  laugh  !  "  — the  carpenter,  beside  his 
hearth,  would  say ;  or  perhaps  intensely  will  it,  without 
a  spoken  word.  And,  even  were  it  prayer-time,  or  at  a 
funeral,  Alice  must  break  into  wild  laughter.  "Alice, 
be  sad  !  "  —  and,  at  the  instant,  down  would  come  her 
tears,  quenching  all  the  mirth  of  those  around  her,  like 
sudden  rain  upon  a  bonfire.  "  Alice,  dance  !  "  —  and 
dance  she  would,  not  in  such  court-hke  measures  as  she 
had  learned  abroad,  but  some  high-paced  jig,  or  hop-skip 
rigadoon,  befitting  the  brisk  lasses  at  a  rustic  merry- 
making. It  seemed  to  be  Maule's  impulse,  not  to  ruin 
Alice,  nor  to  visit  her  with  any  black  or  gigantic  mis- 
chief, which  would  have  crowned  her  sorrows  with  the 
grace  of  tragedy,  but  to  wreak  a  low,  ungenerous  scorn 
upon  her.     Thus  all  the  dignity  of  life  was  lost.     She 


240   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

felt  herself  too  much  abased,  aud  longed  to  change  na- 
tures with  some  worm  ! 

"  One  evening,  at  a  bridal-party  (but  not  her  own. ; 
for,  so  lost  from  self-control,  she  would  have  deemed  it 
sin  to  maiTj),  poor  AHce  was  beckoned  forth  by  her 
unseen  despot,  and  constrained,  in  her  gossamer  white 
dress  and  satin  sUppers,  to  hasten  along  the  street  to  the 
mean  dwelling  of  a  laboring-man.  There  was  laughter 
and  good  cheer  within ;  for  Matthew  Maule,  that  night, 
was  to  wed  the  laborer's  daughter,  and  had  summoned 
proud  Alice  Pyncheon  to  wait  upon  his  bride.  And  so 
she  did ;  aud  when  the  twain  were  one,  Alice  awoke  out 
of  her  enchanted  sleep.  Yet,  no  longer  proud,  —  hum- 
bly, and  with  a  smile  aU  steeped  in  sadness,  —  she  kissed 
Maule's  wife,  and  went  her  way.  It  was  an  inclement 
night ;  the  southeast  wind  drove  the  mingled  snow  and 
rain  iuto  her  thinly  sheltered  bosom ;  her  satin  slippers 
were  wet  through  aud  through,  as  she  trod  the  muddy 
sidewalks.  The  next  day,  a  cold  ;  soon,  a  settled  cough ; 
anon,  a  hectic  cheek,  a  wasted  form,  that  sat  beside  the 
hai-psichord,  and  filled  the  house  with  music  !  Music,  in 
which  a  strain  of  the  heavenly  choristers  was  echoed! 
O,  joy !  For  Alice  had  borne  her  last  humihation !  O, 
greater  joy  I  For  Alice  was  penitent  of  her  one  earthly 
sin,  and  proud  no  more ! 

The  Pyncheons  made  a  great  funeral  for  Ahce.  The 
kith  and  kin  were  there,  and  the  whole  respectabihty  of 
the  town  besides.  But,  last  in  the  procession,  came 
Matthew  Maule,  gnashing  his  teeth,  as  if  he  would  have 
bitten  his  own  heart  in  twain,  —  the  darkest  and  woful- 
lest  man  that  ever  walked  behind  a  corpse  !  sle  meant 
to  humble  Alice,  not  to  kUl  her;  but  he  had  taken  a 
woman's  dehcate  soul  into  his  rude  gripe,  to  play  with, 
—  and  she  was  dead ! 


XIV. 


J?H(EBE'S  GOOD-BY. 


OLGRAYE,  plunging  into  his  tale  with  the 
energy  and  absorption  natural  to  a  young  au- 
thor, had  given  a  good  deal  of  action  to  the 
parts  capable  of  being  developed  and  exemplified  in  that 
manner.  He  now  observed  that  a  certain  remarkable 
drowsiness  (wholly  unlike  that  with  which  the  reader 
possibly  feels  himself  affected)  had  been  flung  over  the 
senses  of  his  auditress.  It  was  the  effect,  unquestion- 
ably, of  the  mystic  gesticulations  by  which  he  had  sought 
to  bring  bodily  before  Phoebe's  perception  the  figure  of 
the  mesmerizing  cirpenter.  With  the  lids  drooping  over 
her  eyes,  —  now  lifted,  for  an  instant,  and  drawn  down 
again,  as  with  leaden  weights,  —  she  leaned  slightly 
towards  him,  and  seemed  almost  to  regulate  her  breath 
by  his.  Holgrave  gazed  at  her,  as  he  rolled  up  his  man- 
uscript, and  recognized  an  incipient  stage  of  that  curious 
psychological  condition,  which,  as  he  had  himself  told 
Phoebe,  he  possessed  more  than  an  ordinary  faculty  of 
producing.  A  veil  was  beginning  to  be  muffled  about 
her,  in  which  she  could  behold  only  him,  and  live  only  in 
his  thoughts  and  emotions.  His  glance,  as  he  fastened 
it  on  the  young  girl,  grew  involuntarily  more  conceo- 


242   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

trated;  in  Ms  attitude  there  was  the  consciousness  o\ 
power,  investing  his  hardly  mature  figure  with  a  dignity 
that  did  not  belong  to  its  physical  manifestation.  It  was 
evident,  that,  with  but  one  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  cor- 
respondhig  effort  of  his  will,  he  could  complete  his  mas- 
tery over  Phoebe's  yet  free  and  virgin  spirit :  he  could 
estabhsh  an  influence  over  this  good,  pure,  and  simple 
child,  as  dangerous,  and  perhaps  as  disastrous  as  that 
which  the  carpenter  of  his  legend  had  acquired  and 
exercised  over  the  ill-fated  Alice. 

To  a  disposition  like  Holgrave's,  at  once  speculative 
and  active,  there  is  no  temptation  so  great  as  the  oppor- 
tunity of  acquiring  empire  over  the  human  spirit;  nor 
any  idea  more  seductive  to  a  young  man  than  to  become 
the  arbiter  of  a  young  girl's  destiny.  Let  us,  therefore, 
—  whatever  his  defects  of  nature  and  education,  and  in 
spite  of  his  scorn  for  creeds  and  institutions,  —  concede 
to  the  daguerreotypist  the  rare  and  high  quality  of  rev- 
erence for  another's  individuality.  Let  us  allow  him 
integrity,  also,  forever  after  to  be  confided  in ;  since  he 
forbade  himself  to  twine  that  one  link  more  which  might 
have  rendered  his  spell  over  Phoebe  indissoluble. 

He  made  a  slight  gesture  upward  with  his  hand. 

"  You  really  mortify  me,  my  dear  Miss  Phoebe  !  "  he 
exclaimed,  smiling  half-sarcastically  at  her.  "  My  poor 
story,  it  is  but  too  evident,  will  never  do  for  Godey  or 
Graham !  Only  think  of  your  falling  asleep  at  what  I 
hoped  the  newspaper  critics  would  pronounce  a  most 
brilliant,  powerful,  imaginative,  pathetic,  and  original 
winding  up !  Well,  the  manuscript  must  serve  to  light 
lamps  with ;  —  if,  indeed,  being  so  imbued  with  ray 
gentle  dulness,  it  is  any  longer  capable  of  flame !  " 

"  Me  asleep !  How  can  you  say  so  ?  "  answered 
Phoebe,  as  unconscious  of  the  crisis  through  which  she 


PHCEBE'S   GOOD-BY.  243 

had  passed  as  an  infant  of  the  precipice  to  the  verge  of 
which  it  has  rolled.  "  No,  no !  I  consider  myself  as 
having  been  very  attentive;  and,  though  I  don't  re- 
member the  incidents  quite  distinctly,  yet  I  have  an 
impression  of  a  vast  deal  of  trouble  and  calamity,  — 
so,  no  doubt,  the  story  will  prove  exceedingly  attrac- 
tive." 

By  this  time  the  sun  had  gone  down,  and  was  tinting 
the  clouds  towards  the  zenith  with  those  bright  hues  which 
are  not  seen  there  until  some  time  after  sunset,  and  when 
the  horizon  has  quite  lost  its  richer  brilHancy.  The 
moon,  too,  which  had  long  been  climbing  overhead,  and 
unobtrusively  melting  its  disk  into  the  azure,  —  like  au 
ambitious  demagogue,  who  hides  his  aspiring  purpose  by 
assuming  the  prevalent  hue  of  popular  sentiment,  —  now 
began  to  shine  out,  broad  and  oval,  in  its  middle  path- 
way. These  silvery  beams  were  already  powerful  enough 
to  change  the  character  of  the  lingering  daylight.  They 
softened  and  embellished  the  aspect  of  the  old  house; 
although  the  shadows  fell  deeper  into  the  angles  of  its 
many  gables,  and  lay  brooding  under  the  projecting  story, 
and  within  the  half-open  door.  With  the  lapse  of  every 
moment,  the  garden  grew  more  picturesque;  the  fruit- 
trees,  shrubbery,  and  flower-bushes  had  a  dark  obscu- 
rity among  them.  The  commonplace  characteristics  — 
which,  at  noontide,  it  seemed  to  have  taken  a  century  of 
sordid  hfe  to  accumulate  —  were  now  transfigured  by  a 
charm  of  romance.  A  hundred  mysterious  years  were 
whispering  among  the  leaves,  whenever  the  slight  sea- 
breeze  found  its  way  thither  and  stirred  them.  Through 
the  foliage  that  roofed  the  little  summer-house  the  moon- 
light flickered  to  and  fro,  and  fell  silvery  white  on  the 
dark  floor,  the  table  and  the  circular  bench,  with  a  con- 
tinual shift  and  play,  according  as  the  chinks  and  way- 


244   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

ward  crevices  among  tlie  twigs  admitted  or  shut  out  the 
glimmer. 

So  sweetly  cool  was  tlie  atmosphere,  after  all  the  fever- 
ish day,  that  the  summer  eve  might  be  fancied  as  sprink- 
ling dews  and  liquid  moonlight,  with  a  dash  of  icy  temper 
in  them,  out  of  a  silver  vase.  Here  and  there,  a  few 
drops  of  this  freshness  were  scattered  on  a  human  heart, 
and  gave  it  youth  again,  and  sympathy  with  the  eternal 
youth  of  nature.  The  artist  chanced  to  be  one  on  whom 
the  reviving  influence  fell.  Ic  made  him  feel  —  what  he 
sometimes  almost  forgot,  thrust  so  early  as  he  had  been 
into  the  rude  struggle  of  man  with  man  —  how  youthful 
he  still  was, 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  observed,  "  that  I  never  watched 
the  coming  of  so  beautiful  an  eve,  and  never  felt  anything 
so  very  much  Hke  happiness  as  at  this  moment.  After 
all,  what  a  good  world  we  live  ia !  How  good,  and 
beautiful !  How  young  it  is,  too,  with  nothing  really 
rotten  or  age-worn  in  it !  This  old  house,  for  example, 
which  sometimes  has  positively  oppressed  my  breath  with 
its  smell  of  decaying  timber !  And  this  garden,  where 
the  black  mould  always  clings  to  my  spade,  as  if  I  were 
a  sexton,  delving  in  a  graveyard !  Could  I  keep  the 
feehng  that  now  possesses  me,  the  garden  would  every 
day  be  virgin  soil,  with  the  earth's  first  freshness  in  the 
flavor  of  its  beans  and  squashes;  and  the  house! — it 
would  be  like  a  bower  in  Eden,  blossoming  with  the 
earliest  roses  that  God  ever  made.  Moonlight,  and  the 
sentiment  in  man's  heart  responsive  to  it,  are  the  great- 
est of  renovators  and  reformers.  And  all  other  reform 
and  renovation,  I  suppose,  will  prove  to  be  no  better  tJian 
moonshine ! " 

"  I  have  been  happier  than  I  am  now ;  at  least,  much 
gayer,"  said  Phoebe,  thoughtfully.     "  Yet  I  am  sensible 


PHCEBE'S    GOOD-BY.  24«5 

of  a  great  charm  m  this  brightening  moonhght ;  and  I 
love  to  watch  how  the  day,  tired  as  it  is,  lags  away  reluc- 
tantly, and  hates  to  be  called  yesterday  so  soon.  I  never 
cared  much  about  moonlight  before.  What  is  there^  I 
wonder,  so  beautiful  in  it,  to-night  ?  " 

"And  you  have  never  felt  it  before?"  inquired  the 
artist,  looking  earnestly  at  the  girl  through  the  twi- 
Hght. 

"  Never,"  answered  Phoebe  ;  "  and  life  does  not  look 
the  same,  now  that  I  have  felt  it  so.  It  seems  as  if  I  had 
looked  at  everything,  hitherto,  in  broad  daylight,  or  else 
in  the  ruddy  light  of  a  cheerful  fire,  glimmering  and  dan- 
cing through  a  room.  Ah,  poor  me  !  "  she  added,  with  a 
half-melancholy  laugh.  "  I  shall  never  be  so  merry  as 
before  I  knew  Cousin  Hepzibah  and  poor  Cousin  Clif- 
ford. I  have  grown  a  great  deal  older,  in  this  little 
time.  Older,  and,  I  hope,  wiser,  and,  —  not  exactly 
sadder,  —  but,  certainly,  with  not  half  so  much  lightness 
in  my  spirits !  I  have  given  them  my  sunshine,  and 
have  been  glad  to  give  it ;  but,  of  course,  I  cannot  both 
give  and  keep  it.     They  are  welcome,  notwithstanding !  " 

"  You  have  lost  nothing,  Phoebe,  worth  keepmg,  nor 
which  it  was  possible  to  keep,"  said  Holgrave,  after  a 
pause.  "  Our  first  youth  is  of  no  value ;  for  we  are  never 
conscious  of  it,  until  after  it  is  gone.  But  sometimes  — 
always,  I  suspect,  unless  one  is  exceedingly  unfortunate 
—  there  comes  a  sense  of  second  youth,  gushing  out  of 
the  heart's  joy  at  being  in  love  ;  or,  possibly,  it  may  come 
to  crown  some  other  grand  festival  in  life,  if  any  other 
such  there  be.  This  bemoaning  of  one's  self  (as  you  do 
cow)  over  the  first,  careless,  shallow  gayety  of  youth  de- 
parted, and  this  profound  happiness  at  youth  regained,  — ' 
80  much  deeper  and  richer  than  that  we  lost,  — ■  are  essen- 
tial to  the  soul's  development.     In  some  cases,  the  two 


246   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

states  come  almost  simultaneously,  and  mingle  the  sadness 
and  the  rapture  in  one  mysterious  emotion." 

"  I  hardly  think  I  understand  you,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  No  wonder,"  replied  Holgrave,  smiling ;  "  for  I  have 
told  you  a  secret  which  I  hardly  began  to  know,  before  I 
found  myself  giving  it  utterance.  Remember  it,  however; 
and  when  the  truth  becomes  clear  to  you,  then  think  of 
this  moonhght  scene  !  " 

"  It  is  entirely  moonlight  now,  except  only  a  little  flush 
of  faint  crimson,  upward  from  the  west,  between  those 
buildings,"  remarked  Phcebe.  "  I  must  go  in.  Cousin 
Hepzibah  is  not  quick  at  figures,  and  will  give  herself  a 
headache  over  the  day's  accounts,  unless  I  help  her." 

But  Holgrave  detained  her  a  little  longer. 

"IMiss  Hepzibah  tells  me,"  observed  he,  "that  you  re- 
turn to  the  country,  in  a  few  days." 

"  Yes,  but  only  for  a  little  while,"  answered  Phoebe ; 
"  for  I  look  upon  this  as  my  present  home.  I  go  to  make 
a  few  arrangements,  and  to  take  a  more  deliberate  leave 
of  my  mother  and  friends.  It  is  pleasant  to  live  where 
one  is  much  desired,  and  very  useful ;  and  I  think  I  may 
have  the  satisfaction  of  feehng  myself  so,  here." 

"  You  surely  may,  and  more  than  you  imagine,"  said 
the  artist.  "  Whatever  health,  comfort,  and  natural  Hfe 
exists  in  the  house,  is  embodied  in  your  person.  These 
blessings  came  along  with  you,  and  will  vanish  when  you 
leave  the  threshold.  Miss  Hepzibah,  by  secluding  her- 
self from  society,  has  lost  all  true  relation  with  it,  and 
is,  in  fact,  dead ;  although  she  galvanizes  herself  into  a 
semblance  of  life,  and  stands  behind  her  counter,  afflicting 
the  world  with  a  greatly-to-be-deprecated  scowl.  Your 
poor  cousm  Clifford  is  another  dead  and  long-buried  per- 
son, on  whom  the  governor  and  council  have  wi-ought  a 
necromantic  miracle.     I  should  not  wonder  if  he  were  to 


PHCEBE'S    GOOD-BY.  247 

crumble  away,  some  morning,  after  you  are  gone,  and 
nothing  be  seen  of  him  more,  except  a  heap  of  dust. 
Miss  Hepzibah,  at  any  rate,  will  lose  what  little  flexibility 
she  has.     They  both  exist  by  you." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  so,"  answered  Phoebe, 
gravely.  "  But  it  is  true  that  my  small  abilities  were  pre- 
cisely what  they  needed ;  and  I  have  a  real  interest  in. 
their  welfare,  —  an  odd  kind  of  motherly  sentiment,  — • 
which  I  wish  you  would  not  laugh  at !  And  let  me  teU 
you  frankly,  Mr.  Holgrave,  I  am  sometimes  puzzled  ta 
know  whether  you  wish  them  well  or  ill." 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  the  daguerreotypist,  "I  do  feel 
an  interest  in  this  antiquated,  poverty-stricken  old  maiden 
lady,  and  this  degraded  and  shattered  gentleman,  —  this 
abortive  lover  of  the  beautiful.  A  kindly  interest,  too, 
helpless  old  children  that  they  are !  But  you  have  no 
conception  what  a  different  kind  of  heart  mine  is  from 
your  own.  It  is  not  my  impulse,  as  regards  these  two 
individuals,  either  to  help  or  hinder ;  but  to  look  on,  to 
analyze,  to  explain  matters  to  myself,  and  to  comprehend 
the  drama  which,  for  almost  two  hundred  years,  has  been 
dragging  its  slow  length  over  the  ground  where  you  and 
I  now  tread.  If  permitted  to  witness  the  close,  I  doubt 
not  to  derive  a  moral  satisfaction  from  it,  go  matters  how 
they  may.  There  is  a  conviction  within  me  that  the  end 
draws  nigh.  But,  though  Providence  sent  you  hither  to 
help,  and  sends  me  only  as  a  privileged  and  meet  spec- 
tator, I  pledge  myself  to  lend  these  unfortunate  bemgs 
whatever  aid  I  can  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  speak  more  plainly,"  cried  Phcebe/ 
perplexed  and  displeased ;  "  and,  above  all,  that  you 
would  feel  more  like  a  Christian  and  a  human  being! 
How  is  it  possible  to  see  people  in  distress,  without  de- 
siring, more   than  anything   else,  to  help  and  comfort 


248   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

them  ?  You  talk  as  if  this  old  house  were  a  theatre  ;  and 
you  seem  to  look  at  Hepzibah's  aud  Clifford's  misfor- 
tunes, aud  those  of  generations  before  them,  as  a  tragedy, 
such  as  I  have  seen  acted  in  the  hall  of  a  country  hotel, 
only  the  present  one  appears  to  be  played  exclusively 
for  your  amusement.  I  do  not  like  this.  The  play  costs 
the  performers  too  much,  and  the  audience  is  too  cold- 
hearted." 

"  You  are  severe,"  said  Holgrave,  compelled  to  recog- 
nize a  degree  of  truth  in  this  piquant  sketch  of  his  own 
mood. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Phoebe,  "  what  can  you  mean 
by  your  conviction,  which  you  tell  me  of,  that  the  end  is 
drawing  near  ?  Do  you  know  of  any  new  trouble  hang- 
ing over  my  poor  relatives  ?  If  so,  tell  me  at  once,  and 
I  will  not  leave  them  !  " 

"  Forgive  me,  Phoebe  !  "  said  the  daguerreotypist, 
holding  out  his  hand,  to  which  the  girl  was  constrained 
to  yield  her  own.  "  I  am  somewhat  of  a  mystic,  it  must 
be  confessed.  The  tendency  is  in  my  blood,  together 
with  the  faculty  of  mesmerism,  which  might  have  brought 
me  to  Gallows  Hill,  in  the  good  old  times  of  witchcraft. 
Beheve  me,  if  I  were  really  aware  of  any  secret,  the  dis- 
closure of  which  would  benefit  your  friends,  —  who  are 
my  own  friends,  likewise,  —  you  should  learn  it  before 
we  part.     But  I  have  no  such  knowledge." 

"  You  hold  something  back  !  "  siid  Phoebe. 

"  Nothing,  — no  secrets  but  my  own,"  answered  Hol- 
grave. "  I  can  perceive,  indeed,  that  Judge  Pyncheon 
still  keeps  his  eye  on  Chfford,  in  whose  ruin  he  had  so 
large  a  share.  His  motives  and  intentions,  however,  are 
a  mystery  to  me.  He  is  a  determined  and  relentless 
man,  with  the  genuine  character  of  an  inquisitor;  and 
had  he  any  object  to  gain  by  putting  Clifford  to  the  rack, 


PH(EB«E'S    GOOD-BY.  249 

1  verily  believe  that  he  would  wrench  his  joints  from, 
their  sockets,  in  order  to  accomplish  it.  But,  so  wealthy 
and  eminent  as  he  is,  —  so  powerful  in  his  own  strength, 
and  in  the  support  of  society  on  all  sides, — what  can 
Judge  Pyncheon  have  to  hope  or  fear  from  the  imbecile, 
branded,  half-torpid  ChfFord  ?  " 

"  Yet,"  urged  Phoebe,  "you  did  speak  as  if  misfortune 
were  impending ! " 

"  0,  that  was  because  I  am  morbid ! ''  replied  the 
artist.  "My  mind  has  a  twist  aside,  like  almost 
everybody's  mind,  except  your  own.  Moreover,  it  is  so 
strange  to  find  myself  an  inmate  of  this  old  Pyncheon 
House,  and  sitting  in  this  old  garden  —  (hark,  how 
Maule's  well  is  murmuring !)  —  that,  were  it  only  for 
this  one  circumstance,  I  cannot  help  fancying  that  Des- 
tiny is  arranging  its  fifth  act  for  a  catastrophe." 

"There!"  cried  Phoebe  with  renewed  vexation;  for 
she  was  by  nature  as  hostile  to  mystery  as  the  sunshine 
to  a  dark  corner.     "  You  puzzle  me  more  than  ever  !  " 

"  Then  let  us  part  friends  !  "  said  Holgrave,  pressing  her 
hand.  "  Or,  if  not  friends,  let  us  part  before  you  entirely 
hate  me.     You,  who  love  everybody  else  in  the  world !  " 

"  Good  by,  then,"  said  Phoebe,  frankly.  "  I  do  not 
mean  to  be  angry  a  great  while,  and  should  be  sorry  to 
have  you  think  so.  There  has  Cousin  Hepzibah  been 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  doorway,  this  quarter  of 
an  hour  past !  She  thinks  I  stay  too  long  in  the  damp 
garden.     So,  good  night,  and  good  by  !  " 

On  the  second  morning  thereafter,  Phoebe  might  have 
been  seen,  in  her  straw  bonnet,  with  a  shawl  on  one  arm 
and  a  Httle  carpet-bag  on  the  other,  bidding  adieu  to 
Hepzibah  and  Cousin  CUfford.  She  was  to  take  a  seat 
in  the  next  tram  of  cars,  which  would  transport  her  to 
within  half  a  dozen  miles  of  her  country  village. 


250   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Tlie  tears  vrere  in  Phcebe's  eyes ;  a  smile,  dewy  with 
afFectiouate  regret,  was  glimmering  around  lier  pleasant 
moutli.  She  wondered  how  it  came  to  pass,  that  her  life 
of  a  few  weeks,  here  in  this  heavy-hearted  old  mansion, 
had  taken  such  hold  of  her,  and  so  melted  into  her  as- 
sociations, as  now  to  seem  a  more  important  centre-point 
of  remembrance  than  all  which  had  gone  before.  How 
had  Hepzibah  —  grim,  silent,  and  irresponsive  to  her 
overflow  of  cordial  sentiment  —  contrived  to  win  so 
much  love  ?  And  Clifford,  —  in  his  abortive  decay,  with 
the  mystery  of  fearful  crime  upon  him,  and  the  close 
prison-atmosphere  yet  lurking  in  his  breath,  —  how  had 
he  transformed  himself  into  the  simplest  child,  whom 
Phcebe  felt  bound  to  watch  over,  and  be,  as  it  were,  the 
providence  of  his  unconsidered  hours !  Everything,  at 
that  instant  of  farewell,  stood  out  prominently  to  her 
view.  Look  where  she  would,  lay  her  hand  on  what  she 
might,  the  object  responded  to  her  consciousness,  as  if  a 
moist  human  heart  were  in  it. 

She  peeped  from  the  window  into  the  garden,  and  felt 
herself  more  regretful  at  leaving  this  spot  of  black  earth, 
vitiated  with  such  an  age-long  growth  of  weeds,  than 
joyful  at  the  idea  of  again  scenting  her  pine  forests 
and  fresh  clover-fields.  She  called  Chanticleer,  his  two 
wives,  and  the  venerable  chicken,  and  threw  them  some 
crumbs  of  bread  from  the  breakfast-table.  These  being 
hastily  gobbled  up,  the  chicken  spread  its  wings,  and 
alighted  close  by  Phoebe  on  the  window-sill,  where  it 
looked  gravely  into  her  face  and  vented  its  emotions  in  a 
croak.  Phoebe  bade  it  be  a  good  old  chicken  during  her 
absence,  and  promised  to  bring  it  a  little  bag  of  buck- 
wheat. 

"  Ah,  Phoebe !  "  remarked  Hepzibah,  "  you  do  not 
emile  so  naturally  as  when  you  came  to  us  !     Then  the 


PHCEBE'S    GOOD-BY.  251 

smile  chose  to  shine  out ;  now,  you  choose  it  should.  It 
is  well  that  you  are  going  back,  for  a  little  while,  into 
your  native  air.  There  has  been  too  much  weight  on 
your  spirits.  The  house  is  too  gloomy  and  lonesome; 
the  shop  is  full  of  vexations ;  and  as  for  me,  I  have  no 
faculty  of  making  things  look  brighter  than  they  ara 
Dear  Clifford  has  been  your  only  comfort !  " 

"  Come  hither,  Phcebe,"  suddenly  cried  her  cousin  Clif- 
ford, who  had  said  very  Uttle,  all  the  morning.  "  Close  ! 
—  closer !  —  and  look  me  in  the  face  !  " 

Phoebe  put  one  of  her  small  hands  on  each  elbow  of 
his  chair,  and  leaned  her  face  towards  him,  so  that  he 
might  peruse  it  as  carefully  as  he  would.  It  is  probable 
that  the  latent  emotions  of  this  parting  hour  had  revived, 
in  some  degree,  his  bedimmed  and  enfeebled  faculties. 
At  any  rate,  Phoebe  soon  felt  that,  if  not  the  profound 
insight  of  a  seer,  yet  a  more  than  feminine  delicacy  of 
appreciation,  was  making  her  heart  the  subject  of  its  re- 
gard. A  moment  before,  she  had  known  nothing  which  she 
would  have  sought  to  hide.  Now,  as  if  some  secret  were 
hinted  to  her  own  consciousness  through  the  medium  of 
another's  perception,  she  was  fain  to  let  her  eyelids  droop 
beneath  Clilford's  gaze.  A  blush,  too,  —  the  redder,  be- 
cause she  strove  hard  to  keep  it  down,  —  ascended  higher 
and  higher,  in  a  tide  of  fitful  progress,  until  even  her 
brow  was  aU  suffused  with  it. 

"It  is  enough,  Phoebe,"  said  Clifford,  with  a  melan- 
choly smile.  "When  I  first  saw  you,  you  were  the 
prettiest  httle  maiden  in  the  world ;  and  now  you  have 
deepened  into  beauty  !  Girlhood  has  passed  into  woman- 
hood ;  the  bud  is  a  bloom  /  Go,  now !  —  I  feel  lonelier 
than  1  did." 

Phoebe  took  leave  of  the  desolate  couple,  and  passed 
through  the  shop,  twinkling  her  eyehds  to  shake  off  a 


252   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

dewdrop ;  for  —  considering  how  brief  her  absence  was 
to  be,  and  therefore  the  folly  of  being  cast  down  abont  it 
—  she  would  not  so  far  acknowledge  her  tears  as  to  dry 
them  with  her  handkerchief.  On  the  doorstep,  she  met 
the  little  urchin  whose  marvellous  feats  of  gastronomy 
have  been  recorded  in  the  earlier  pages  of  our  narrative. 
She  took  from  the  window  some  specimen  or  other  of 
natural  history,  —  her  eyes  being  too  dim  with  moisture 
to  inform  her  accurately  whether  it  was  a  rabbit  or  a 
hippopotamus,  —  put  it  into  the  child's  hand,  as  a  part- 
ing gift,  and  went  her  way.  Old  Uncle  Venner  was  just 
coming  out  of  his  door,  with  a  wood-horse  and  saw  on 
his  shoulder ;  and,  trudging  along  the  street,  he  scrupled 
not  to  keep  company  with  Phoebe,  so  far  as  their  paths 
lay  together ;  nor,  in  spite  of  his  patched  coat  and  rusty 
beaver,  and  the  curious  fashion  of  his  tow-cloth  trousers, 
could  she  find  it  in  her  heart  to  outwalk  him. 

"  We  shall  miss  you,  next  Sabbath  afternoon,"  ob- 
served the  street  philosopher.  "It  is  unaccountable 
how  little  while  it  takes  some  folks  to  grow  just  as  nat- 
ural to  a  man  as  his  own  breath;  and,  begging  your 
pardon.  Miss  Phcebe  (though  there  can  be  no  offence  in 
an  old  man's  saying  it),  that's  just  what  you  've  grown 
to  me!  My  years  have  been  a  great  many,  and  your 
life  is  but  just  begmning;  and  yet,  you  are  somehow  as 
familiar  to  me  as  if  I  had  found  you  at  my*mother's  door, 
and  you  had  blossomed,  like  a  running  vine,  all  along 
my  pathway  since.  Come  back  soon,  or  I  shall  be  gone 
to  my  farm ;  for  I  begin  to  find  these  wood-sawing  jobs 
a  little  too  tough  for  my  back-ache." 

"Very  soon,  Uncle  Venner,"  replied  Phcebe. 

"  And  let  it  be  all  the  sooner,  Phoebe,  for  the  sake 
of  those  poor  souls  yonder,"  continued  her  companion. 
"  They  can  never  do  without  you,  now,  —  never,  Phoebe, 


PHCEBE'S    GOOD-BY.  253 

never  !  —  no  more  than  if  one  of  God's  angels  had  been 
living  with  them,  and  making  their  dismal  house  pleas- 
ant and  comfortable  !  Don't  it  seem  to  yon  they  'd  be 
in  a  sad  case,  if,  some  pleasant  summer  morning  Kke  this, 
the  angel  should  spread  his  wings,  and  fly  to  the  place 
he  came  from  ?  Well,  just  so  they  feel,  now  that  you  're 
going  home  by  the  railroad !  They  can't  bear  it.  Miss 
Phoebe ;  so  be  sure  to  come  back  !  " 

"  I  am  no  angel,  Uncle  Venner,"  said  Phoebe,  smilmg, 
as  she  offered-him  her  hand  at  the  street-corner.  "  But, 
I  suppose,  people  never  feel  so  much  like  angels  as  when 
they  are  doing  what  little  good  they  may.  So  I  shall 
"  certainly  come  back  !  " 

Thus  parted  the  old  man  and  the  rosy  girl;  and 
Phoebe  took  the  wmgs  of  the  morning,  and  was  soon  flit- 
ting almost  as  rapidly  away  as  if  endowed  with  the  aerial 
locomotion  of  the  angels  to  whom  Uncle  Venner  had  so 
graciously  compared  her. 


XV. 

THE  SCOWL  AND  SMILE. 

EVEHAL  days  passed  over  the  Seven  Gables, 
heavily  and  drearily  enough.  In  fact  (not  to 
attribute  the  whole  gloom  of  sky  and  earth  to 
the  one  inauspicious  circumstance  of  Phoebe's  departure), 
an  easterly  storm  had  set  in,  and  indefatigably  appUed 
itself  to  the  task  of  making  the  black  roof  and  walls  of 
the  old  house  look  more  cheerless  than  ever  before.  Yet 
was  the  outside  not  half  so  cheerless  as  the  interior. 
Poor  ChfFord  was  cut  oflp,  at  once,  from  all  his  scanty  re- 
sources of  enjoyment.  Phoebe  was  not  there  ;  nor  did 
the  sunshine  fall  upon  the  floor.  The  garden,  with 
its  muddy  walks,  and  the  chill,  dripping  foliage  of  its 
summer-house,  was  an  image  to  be  shuddered  at.  Noth- 
ing flourished  in  the  cold,  moist,  pitiless  atmosphere, 
drifting  with  the  brackish  scud  of  sea-breezes,  except  the 
moss  along  the  joints  of  the  shingle-roof,  and  the  great 
bunch  of  weeds,  that  had  lately  been  suff'ering  from 
drought,  in  the  angle  between  the  two  front  gables. 

As  for  Hepzibah,  she  seemed  not  merely  possessed 
with  the  east  wind,  but  to  be,  in  her  very  person,  only 
another  phase  of  this  gray  and  sullen  spell  of  weather ; 
the  east  wind  itself,  grim  and  disconsolate,  in  a  rusty 


THE  SCOWL   AND   SMILE.  255 

black  silk  gown,  and  with  a  turban  of  cloud- wreaths  on 
its  head.  The  custom  of  the  shop  fell  off  because  a  storj 
got  abroad  that  she  soured  her  small  beer  and  other 
damageable  commodities,  bj  scowling  on  them.  It  is, 
perhaps,  true  that  the  public  had  something  reasonablj 
to  complain  of  in  her  deportment ;  but  towards  Clifford 
she  was  neither  ill-tempered  nor  unkmd,  nor  felt  less 
warmth  of  heart  than  always,  had  it  been  possible  to 
make  it  reach  him.  The  inutility  of  her  best  efforts, 
however,  palsied  the  poor  old  gentlewoman.  She  could 
do  little  else  than  sit  silently  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
when  the  wet  pear-tree  branches,  sweeping  across  the 
small  windows,  created  a  noonday  dusk,  which  Hepzibah 
unconsciously  darkened  with  her  woebegone  aspect.  It 
was  no  fault  of  Hepzibah's.  Everything —  even  the  old 
chairs  and  tables,  that  had  known  what  weather  was  for 
three  or  four  such  lifetimes  as  her  own  —  looked  as 
damp  and  chill  as  if  the  present  were  their  worst  experi- 
ence. The  picture  of  the  Puritan  Colonel  shivered  on 
the  wall.  The  house  itself  shivered,  from  every  attic  of 
its  seven  gables,  down  to  the  great  kitchen  fireplace, 
which  served  all  the  better  as  an  emblem  of  the  man- 
sion's heart,  because,  though  built  for  warmth,  it  was 
now  so  comfortless  and  empty. 

Hepzibah  attempted  to  enliven  matters  by  a  fire  in  the 
parlor.  But  the  storm-demon  kept  watch  above,  and, 
whenever  a  flame  was  kindled,  drove  the  smoke  back 
again,  choking  the  chimney's  sooty  throat  with  its  own 
breath.  Nevertheless,  durmg  four  days  of  this  miserable 
storm,  Clifford  wrapt  himself  in  an  old  cloak,  and  occu- 
pied his  customary  chair.  On  the  morning  of  the  fifth, 
when  summoned  to  breakfast,  he  responded  only  by  a 
broken-hearted  murmur,  expressive  of  a  determination 
not  to  leave  his  bed.    His  sister  made  no  attempt  to 


256   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

cLange  his  purpose.  In  fact,  entirely  as  she  loved  him, 
Hepzibah  could  hardly  have  borne  any  longer  the 
"wretched  duty  —  so  impracticable  by  her  few  and  rigid 
faculties — of  seeking  pastime  for  a  still  sensitive,  but 
ruined  mind,  critical  and  fastidious,  without  force  or 
volition.  It  was,  at  least,  something  short  of  positive 
despair,  that,  to-day,  she  might  sit  shivermg  alone,  and 
not  buffer  continually  a  new  grief,  and  unreasonable 
pang  of  remorse,  at  every  fitful  sigh  of  her  fellow-suf- 
ferer. 

But  Clifford,  it  seemed,  though  he  did  not  make  his 
appearance  below  stairs,  had,  after  all,  bestirred  himseK 
in  quest  of  amusement.  In  the  course  of  the  forenoon, 
Hepzibah  heard  a  note  of  music,  which  (there  being  no 
other  tuneful  contrivance  in  the  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables)  she  knew  must  proceed  from  Alice  Pyncheon's 
harpsichord.  She  was  aware  that  Clifford,  in  his  youth, 
had  possessed  a  cultivated  taste  for  music,  and  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  skill  in  its  practice.  It  was  difficult, 
however,  to  conceive  of  his  retaining  an  accomplishment 
to  which  daily  exercise  is  so  essential,  in  the  measure 
indicated  by  the  sweet,  airy,  and  deUcate,  though  most 
melancholy  strain,  that  now  stole  upon  her  ear.  Nor 
was  it  less  marvellous  that  the  long-silent  instrument 
should  be  capable  of  so  much  melody.  Hepzibah  invol- 
iintarily  thought  of  the  ghostly  harmonies,  prelusive  of 
death  in  the  family,  which  were  attributed  to  the  legen- 
dary Alice.  But  it  was,  perhaps,  proof  of  the  agency  of 
other  than  spiritual  fingers,  that,  after  a  few  touches,  the 
chords  seemed  to  snap  asunder  with  their  own  vibrations, 
and  the  music  ceased. 

But  a  harsher  sound  succeeded  to  the  mysterious  notes; 
nor  was  the  easterly  day  fated  to  pass  without  an  event 
sufficient  in  itself  to  poison,  for  Hepzibah  and  Chfford, 


THE    SCOWL   AND    SMILE.  257 

the  balmiest  air  that  ever  brought  the  humming-birds 
plong  with  it.  The  final  echoes  of  Ahce  Pyncheon's 
performance  (or  Clifford's,  if  his  we  must  consider  it) 
were  driven  away  by  no  less  vulgar  a  dissonance  than  the 
ringing  of  the  shop-bell.  A  foot  was  heard  scraping  itself 
on  the  threshold,  and  thence  somewhat  ponderously  step- 
ping on  the  floor.  Hepzibah  delayed  a  moment,  while 
muffling  herself  in  a  faded  shawl,  which  had  been  her 
defensive  armor  in  a  forty  years'  warfare  against  the  east 
wind.  A  characteristic  sound,  however,  —  neither  a 
cough  nor  a  hem,  but  a  kind  of  rumbling  and  rever- 
berating spasm  in  somebody's  capacious  depth  of  chest, 
—  impelled  her  to  hurry  forward,  with  that  aspect  of 
fierce  faint-heartedness  so  common  to  women  in  cases  of 
perilous  emergency.  Few  of  her  sex,  on  such  occasions, 
have  ever  looked  so  terrible  as  our  poor  scowling  Hep- 
zibah. But  the  visitor  quietly  closed  the  shop-door 
behind  him,  stood  up  his  umbrella  against  the  counter, 
and  turned  a  visage  of  composed  benignity,  to  meet  the 
alarm  and  anger  which  his  appearance  had  excited.  • 

Hepzibah's  presentiment  had  not  deceived  her.  It 
was  no  other  than  Judge  Pyncheon,  who,  after  in  vain 
trymg  the  front  door,  had  now  effected  his  entrance  into 
the  shop. 

"  How  do  you  do.  Cousin  Hepzibah  ?  —  and  how 
does  this  most  inclement  weather  affect  our  poor 
Clifford  ?  "  began  the  Judge ;  and  wonderful  it  seemed, 
indeed,  that  the  easterly  storm  was  not  put  to  shame,  or, 
at  any  rate,  a  little  mollified,  by  the  genial  benevolence 
of  his  smile.  "  I  could  not  rest  without  calling  to  ask, 
once  more,  whether  I  can  in  any  manner  promote  his 
comfort,  or  your  own." 

"  You  can  do  nothing,"  said  Hepzibah,  controlling 
her  agitation  as  well  as  she  could.     "  I  devote  myself  to 


258   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Clifford.  He  has  every  comfort  Tvliich  his  situation  ad* 
mits  of." 

"But,  allow  me  to  suggest,  dear  cousin,"  rejoined  the 
Judge,  "  you  err,  —  in  all  affection  and  kindness,  no 
doubt,  and  v.dth  the  very  best  intentions,  —  but  you 
do  err,  nevertheless,  in  keeping  your  brother  so  se- 
cluded. Why  insulate  him  thus  from  all  sympathy 
and  kmdness  ?  Clifford,  alas  !  has  had  too  much  of 
solitude.  Now  let  him  try  society,  —  the  society,  that 
is  to  say,  of  kindred  and  old  friends.  Let  me,  for  in- 
stance, but  see  Clifford,  and  I  Trill  answer  for  the  good 
effect  of  the  interview." 

"  You  cannot  see  him,"  answered  Hepzibah.  "  Clif- 
ford has  kept  his  bed  since  yesterday." 

"  What !  How  !  Is  he  ill  ?  "  exclaimed  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon,  starting  with  what  seemed  to  be  angry  alarm; 
for  the  very  frown  of  the  old  Puritan  darkened  through 
the  room  as  he  spoke.  "  Nay,  then,  I  must  and  will  see 
him  !     What  if  he  should  die  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  no  danger  of  death,"  said  Hepzibah,  —  and 
added,  with  bitterness  that  she  could  repress  no  longer, 
*'  none ;  unless  he  shall  be  persecuted  to  death,  now, 
by  the  same  man  who  long  ago  attempted  it ! " 

"  Cousin  Hepzibah,"  said  the  Judge,  with  an  impress- 
ive earnestness  of  manner,  which  grew  even  to  tearful 
pathos,  as  he  proceeded,  "  is  it  possible  that  you  do  not 
perceive  how  unjust,  how  unkind,  how  unchristian,  is 
this  constant,  this  long-continued  bitterness  against  me, 
for  a  part  which  I  was  constrained  by  duty  and  con- 
science, by  the  force  of  law,  and  at  my  own  peril,  to 
act  ?  What  did  I  do,  in  detriment  to  Clifford,  which  it 
was  possible  to  leave  undone  ?  How  could  you,  his  sis- 
ter, —  if,  for  your  never-ending  sorrow,  as  it  has  been 
for  mine,   you  had  known  what  I   did,  —  have  shown 


THE    SCOWL  AND    SMILE.  259 

greater  tenderness  ?  And  do  you  think,  cousin,  that  it 
has  cost  me  no  pang  ?  —  that  it  has  left  no  anguish  in 
my  bosom,  from  that  day  to  this,  amidst  all  the  pros- 
perity with  which  Heaven  has  blessed  me  ?  —  or  that  I 
do  not  now  rejoice,  when  it  is  deemed  consistent  with 
the  dues  of  public  justice  and  the  welfare  of  society  that 
this  dear  kinsman,  this  early  friend,  this  nature  so  deli- 
cately and  beautifully  constituted,  —  so  unfortunate,  let 
us  pronounce  him,  and  forbear  to  say,  so  guilty,  —  that 
our  own  Clifford,  in  fine,  should  be  given  back  to  life, 
and  its  possibilities  of  enjoyment  ?  Ah,  you  little  know 
me,  Cousin  Hepzibah  !  You  little  know  this  heart !  It 
now  throbs  at  the  thought  of  meeting  him  !  There  lives 
not  the  human  being  (except  yourself,  —  and  you  not 
more  than  I)  who  has  shed  so  many  tears  for  Clifford's 
calamity !  You  behold  some  of  them  now.  There  is 
none  who  would  so  delight  to  promote  his  happiness  ! 
Try  me,  Hepzibah  !  —  try  me,  cousin !  —  try  the  man 
whom  you  have  treated  as  your  enemy  and  Clifford's ! 
—  try  Jaff'rey  Pyncheon,  and  you  shall  find  him  true,  to 
the  heart's  core  !  " 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,"  cried  Hepzibah,  provoked 
only  to  intenser  indignation  by  this  outgush  of  the  in- 
estimable tenderness  of  a  stern  nature,  —  "in  God's 
name,  whom  you  insult,  and  whose  power  I  could  al- 
most question,  since  he  hears  you  utter  so  many  false 
words,  without  palsying  your  tongue,  —  give  over,  I 
beseech  you,  this  loathsome  pretence  of  affection  for  your 
victim  !  You  hate  him  !  Say  so,  like  a  man !  You  cher- 
ish, at  this  moment,  some  black  purpose  against  him,  in 
your  heart !  Speak  it  out,  at  once  !  —  or,  if  you  hope  so 
to  promote  it  better,  hide  it  till  you  can  triumph  in  its 
success  !  But  never  speak  again  of  your  love  for  my  poor 
brother !     I  cannot  bear  it !     It  will  drive  me  beyond 


'^60   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

a  woman's  decency !  It  will  drive  me  mad  !  Eorbear! 
Not  another  word  !     It  will  make  me  spurn  you !  " 

Por  once,  Hepzibah's  wrath  had  given  her  courage. 
She  had  spoken.  But,  after  all,  was  this  unconquerable 
distrust  of  Judge  Pyncheon's  integi'ity,  and  this  utter 
denial,  apparently,  of  his  claim  to  stand  in  the  ring  of 
human  sympathies,  —  were  they  founded  in  any  just 
perception  of  his  character,  or  merely  the  offspring  of  a 
woman's  unreasonable  prejudice,  deduced  from  nothing  ? 

The  Judge,  beyond  all  question,  was  a  man  of  eminent 
respectability.  The  church  acknowledged  it;  the  state 
acknowledged  it.  It  was  denied  by  nobody.  In  all  the 
very  extensive  sphere  of  those  who  knew  him,  whether 
in  his  public  or  private  capacities,  there  was  not  an  in- 
dividual —  except  Hepzibah,  and  some  lawless  mystic, 
like  the  daguerreotypist,  and,  possibly,  a  few  political 
opponents  —  who  would  have  dreamed  of  seriously  dis- 
puting his  claim  to  a  high  and  honorable  place  in  the 
world's  regard.  Nor  (we  must  do  him  the  further  jus- 
tice to  say)  did  Judge  Pyncheon  himself,  probably,  en- 
tertain many  or  very  frequent  doubts,  that  his  enviable 
reputation  accorded  with  his  deserts.  His  conscience, 
therefore,  usually  considered  the  surest  witness  to  a 
man's  integrity,  —  his  conscience,  unless  it  might  be  for 
the  little  space  of  five  minutes  in  the  twenty-four  hours, 
or,  now  and  then,  some  black  day  in  the  whole  year's 
circle,  —  his  conscience  bore  an  accordant  testimony 
with  the  world's  laudatory  voice.  And  yet,  strong  as 
this  evidence  may  seem  to  be,  we  should  hesitate  to  peril 
our  own  conscience  on  the  assertion,  that  the  Judge  and 
the  consenting  world  were  right,  and  that  poor  Hepzi- 
bah, with  her  soHtary  prejudice,  was  wi'ong.  Hidden 
from  mankind,  —  forgotten  by  himself,  or  buried  so 
deeply  ander  a  sculptured  and  ornamented  pile  of  os- 


THE    SCOWL   AND    SMILE.  261 

tentatious  deeds  that  liis  daily  life  could  take  no  note  of 
it,  —  there  may  have  lurked  some  evil  and  unsightly 
thing.  Nay,  we  could  almost  venture  to  say,  further, 
that  a  daily  guilt  might  have  been  acted  by  him,  contin- 
ually renewed,  and  reddening  forth  afresh,  like  the  mi- 
raculous blood-stain  of  a  murder,  without  his  necessarily 
and  at  every  moment  being  aware  of  it. 

Men  of  strong  minds,  great  force  of  character,  and  a 
hard  texture  of  the  sensibilities,  are  very  capable  of  fall- 
ing into  mistakes  of  this  kind.  They  are  ordinarily  men 
to  whom  forms  are  of  paramount  importance.  Their 
field  of  action  lies  among  the  external  phenomena  of  life. 
They  possess  vast  ability  in  grasping,  and  arranging,  and 
appropriating  to  themselves,  the  big,  heavy,  soHd  unre- 
alities, such  as  gold,  landed  estate,  offices  of  trust  and 
emolument,  and  public  honors.  With  these  materials, 
and  with  deeds  of  goodly  aspect,  done  in  the  public  eye, 
an  individual  of  thiis'  class  builds  up,  as  it  were,  a  tall 
and  stately  edifice,  which,  in  the  view  of  other  people, 
and  ultimately  in  his  own  view,  is  no  other  than  the 
man's  character,  or  the  man  himself.  Behold,  therefore, 
a  palace !  Its  splendid  halls,  and  suites  of  spacious 
apartments,  are  floored  with  a  mosaic-work  of  costly 
marbles ;  its  windows,  the  whole  height  of  each  room, 
admit  the  sunshine  through  the  most  transparent  of 
plate-glass ;  its  high  cornices  are  gilded,  and  its  ceilings 
gorgeously  painted  ;  and  a  lofty  dome  —  through  which, 
from  the  central  pavement,  you  may  gaze  up  to  the  sky, 
as  with  no  obstructing  medium  between  —  surmounts 
the  whole.  With  what  fairer  and  nobler  emblem  could 
any  man  desire  to  shadow  forth  liis  character?  Ah! 
but  in  some  low  and  obscure  nook,  —  some  narrow 
closet  on  the  ground-floor,  shut,  locked,  and  bolted,  and 
the  key  flung  away,  —  or  beneath  the  marble  pavement. 


262   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

in  a  stagnant  water-puddle,  ^vith  the  richest  pattern  of 
mosaic-work  above,  —  may  lie  a  corpse,  half  decayed,  and 
still  decaying,  and  diffusing  its  death-scent  all  through 
the  palace !  The  inhabitant  "will  not  be  conscious  of 
it,  for  it  has  long  been  his  daily  breath !  Neither  will 
the  visitors,  for  they  smell  only  the  rich  odors  which  the 
master  sedulously  scatters  through  the  palace,  and  the 
incense  which  they  bring,  and  delight  to  burn  before 
him  !  Now  and  then,  perchance,  comes  in  a  seer,  before 
whose  sadly  gifted  eye  the  whole  structure  melts  into 
thin  air,  leaving  only  the  hidden  nook,  the  bolted  closet, 
with  the  cobwebs  festooned  over  its  forgotten  door,  or 
the  deadly  hole  under  the  pavement,  and  the  decaying 
corpse  within.  Here,  then,  we  are  to  seek  the  true  em- 
blem of  the  man's  character,  and  of  the  deed  that  gives 
whatever  reahty  it  possesses  to  his  life.  And,  beneath 
the  show  of  a  marble  palace,  that  pool  of  stagnant  water, 
foul  with  many  impurities,  and,  perhaps,  tinged  with 
blood,  —  that  secret  abomination,  above  which,  possibly, 
he  may  say  his  prayers,  without  remembering  it,  —  is 
this  man's  miserable  soul ! 

To  apply  this  train  of  remark  somewhat  more  closely 
to  Judge  Pyncheon.  We  might  say  (without  in  the  least 
imputing  crime  to  a  personage  of  his  eminent  respecta- 
bihty)  that  there  was  enough  of  splendid  rubbish  in  his 
life  to  cover  up  and  paralyze  a  more  active  and  subtile 
conscience  than  the  Judge  was  ever  troubled  with.  The 
purity  of  his  judicial  character,  while  on  the  bench  ;  the 
faithfulness  of  his  public  service  in  subsequent  capaci- 
ties ;  his  devotedness  to  his  party,  and  the  rigid  consist- 
ency with  which  he  had  adhered  to  its  principles,  or,  at 
all  events,  kept  pace  with  its  organized  movements  ;  his 
remarkable  zeal  as  president  of  a  Bible  society;  his 
unimpeachable   integrity  as  treasurer  of  a  widow's  and 


THE    SCOWL    AND    SMILE.  263 

orphan's  fund ;  his  benefits  to  horticulture,  by  producing 
two  much-esteemed  varieties  of  the  pear,  and  to  agri- 
culture, through  the  agency  of  the  famous  Pyncheon 
bull ;  the  cleanliness  of  his  moral  deportment,  for  a  great 
many  years  past ;  the  severity  with  which  he  had  frowned 
upon,  and  finally  cast  off,  an  expensive  and  dissipated 
son,  delaying  forgiveness  until  within  the  final  quarter  of 
an  hour  of  the  young  man's  life ;  his  prayers  at  morning 
and  eventide,  and  graces  at  meal-time ;  his  efforts  in 
furtherance  of  the  temperance  cause ;  his  confining  him- 
self, since  the  last  attack  of  the  gout,  to  five  diurnal 
glasses  of  old  sherry  wine ;  the  snowy  whiteness  of  his 
linen,  the  polish  of  his  boots,  the  handsomeness  of  his 
gold-headed  cane,  the  square  and  roomy  fashion  of 
his  coat,  and  the  fineness  of  its  material,  and,  in  general, 
the  studied  propriety  of  liis  dress  and  equipment;  the 
scrupulousness  with  which  he  paid  public  notice,  in  the 
street,  by  a  bow,  a  lifting  of  the  hat,  a  nod,  or  a  motion  of 
the  hand,  to  all  and  sundry  of  his  acquaintances,  rich  or 
poor ;  the  smile  of  broad  benevolence  wherewith  he  made 
it  a  point  to  gladden  the  whole  world;  —  what  room 
could  possibly  be  found  for  darker  traits,  in  a  portrait 
made  up  of  lineaments  like  these  ?  This  proper  face  was 
what  he  beheld  in  the  looking-glass.  This  admirably  ar- 
ranged life  was  what  he  was  conscious  of,  in  the  progress 
of  every  day.  Then,  might  not  he  claim  to  be  its  result 
and  sum,  and  say  to  himself  and  the  community,  "  Behold 
Judge  Pyncheon  there  "  ? 

And,  allowing  that,  many,  many  years  ago,  in  his  early 
and  reckless  youth,  he  had  committed  some  one  wrong 
act,  —  or  that,  even  now,  the  inevitable  force  of  circum- 
stances should  occasionally  make  him  do  one  questionable 
deed,  among  a  thousand  praiseworthy,  or,  at  least,  blame- 
less ones,  —  would  you  characterize  the  Judge  by  that 


264   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

one  necessary  deed,  and  that  half-forgotten  act,  and  let  it 
overshadow  the  fair  aspect  of  a  lifetime  ?  What  is  there 
so  ponderous  in  evil,  that  a  thumb's  bigness  of  it  should 
outweigh  the  mass  of  thmgs  not  evil  which  were  heaped 
into  the  other  scale  !  This  scale  and  balance  system  is  a 
favorite  one  with  people  of  Judge  Pyncheon's  brother- 
hood. A  hard,  cold  man,  thus  unfortunately  situated, 
seldom  or  never  looking  inward,  and  resolutely  taking 
his  idea  of  himself  from  what  purports  to  be  his  image  as 
reflected  in  the  mirror  of  pubhc  opinion,  can  scarcely  ar- 
rive at  true  self-knowledge,  except  through  loss  of  prop- 
erty and  reputation.  Sickness  wHl  not  always  help  him 
do  it ;  not  always  the  death-hour  ! 

But  our  affair  now  is  with  Judge  Pyncheon  as  he  stood 
confronting  the  fierce  outbreak  of  Hepzibah's  wrath. 
Without  premeditation,  to  her  own  surprise,  aud  indeed 
terror,  she  had  given  vent,  for  once,  to  the  inveteracy  of 
her  resentment,  cherished  agamst  this  kinsman  for  thirty 
years. 

Thus  far,  the  Judge's  countenance  had  expressed  mild 
forbearance,  —  grave  and  almost  gentle  deprecation  of 
his  cousin's  unbecoming  violence,  —  free  and  Christian- 
like forgiveness  of  the  wrong  inflicted  by  her  words. 
But,  when  those  words  were  irrevocably  spoken,  his  look 
assumed  sternness,  the  sense  of  power,  and  immitigable 
resolve ;  and  this  with  so  natural  and  imperceptible  a 
change,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  iron  man  had  stood  there 
from  the  first,  and  the  meek  man  not  at  all.  The  eff'ect 
was  as  when  the  light,  vapory  clouds,  with  their  soft  col- 
oring, suddenly  vanish  from  the  stony  brow  of  a  precipi- 
tous mountain,  and  leave  there  the  frown  which  you  at 
once  feel  to  be  eternal.  Hepzibah  almost  adopted  the 
insane  belief  that  it  was  her  old  Puritan  ancestor,  and 
not  the  modern  Judge,  on  whom  she  had  just  been  wreak- . 


THE    SCOWL  AND    SMILE.  265 

ing  the  bitterness  of  her  heart.  Never  did  a  man  sho"^ 
stronger  proof  of  the  lineage  attributed  to  him  than 
Judge  Pyncheon,  at  this  crisis,  by  his  unmistakable  re- 
semblance to  the  picture  in  the  inner  room. 

"  Cousin  Hepzibah,"  said  he,  very  calmly,  "  it  is  time 
to  ha 76  done  with  this." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  answered  she.  "  Then,  why  do 
you  persecute  us  any  longer  ?  Leave  poor  Clifford  and 
me  in  peace.     Neither  of  us  desires  anything  better  !  " 

"  It  is  my  purpose  to  see  Clifford  before  I  leave  this 
house,"  continued  the  Judge.  "  Do  not  act  like  a  mad- 
woman, Hepzibah  !  I  am  his  only  friend,  and  an  all- 
powerful  one.  Has  it  never  occurred  to  you,  —  are  you 
so  blind  as  not  to  have  seen,  —  that,  without  not  merely 
my  consent,  but  my  efforts,  my  representations,  the  ex- 
ertion of  my  whole  influence,  pohtical,  official,  personal, 
Clifford  would  never  have  been  what  you  call  free  ?  Did 
you  think  his  release  a  triumph  over  me  ?  Not  so,  my 
good  cousin ;  not  so,  by  any  means  !  The  furthest  pos- 
sible from  that !  No ;  but  it  was  the  accomplishment 
of  a  purpose  long  entertained  on  my  part.  I  set  him 
free ! " 

"  You  !  "  answered  Hepzibah.  "  I  never  will  believe 
it !  He  owed  his  dungeon  to  you  ;  —  his  freedom  to 
God's   providence  !  " 

"I  set  him  free  !  "  reaffirmed  Judge  Pyncheon,  with 
the  calmest  composure.  "  And  I  come  hither  now  to 
decide  whether  he  shall  retain  his  freedom.  It  will  de- 
pend upon  himself.     For  this  purpose,  I  must  see  him." 

"  Never  !  —  it  would  drive  him  mad  !  "  exclaimed  Hep- 
zibah, but  with  an  irresoluteness  sufficiently  perceptible 
to  the  keen  eye  of  the  Judge ;  for,  without  the  slightest 
faith  in  his  good  intentions,  she  knew  not  whether  there 
was  most  to  dread  m  yielding  or  resistance.     "  And  why 


266   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

should  YOU  Tvisli  to  see  tliis  "^rretcbed,  brokeu  mau,  who 
retams  hardly  a  fractiou  of  his  iutelleet,  and  will  hide 
even  that  from  an  eye  which  has  no  love  in  it  ?  " 

"  He  shall  see  love  enough  in  mine,  if  that  be  all !  '* 
said  the  Judge,  with  well-grounded  confidence  in  the 
benignity  of  his  aspect.  "  But,  Cousin  Hepzibah,  you 
confess  a  great  deal,  and  very  much  to  the  purpose. 
Now,  listen,  and  I  will  frankly  explain  my  reasons  for 
insisting  on  this  interview.  At  the  death,  thirty  years 
smce,  of  our  uncle  Jaifrey,  it  was  found,  —  I  know  not 
wlietlier  the  circumstance  ever  attracted  much  of  your 
attention,  among  the  sadder  interests  that  clustered 
round  that  event,  —  but  it  was  found  that  his  visible 
estate,  of  every  kind,  feU  far  short  of  any  estimate  ever 
made  of  it.  He  was  supposed  to  be  immensely  rich. 
Nobody  doubted  that  he  stood  among  the  weightiest  men 
of  his  day.  It  was  one  of  his  eccentricities,  however,  — 
and  not  altogether  a  folly,  neither,  —  to  conceal  the 
amount  of  his  property  by  making  distant  and  foreign 
investments,  perhaps  under  other  names  than  his  own, 
and  by  various  means,  familiar  enough  to  capitaUsts,  but 
unnecessary  here  to  be  specified.  By  Uncle  Jaffrey's 
last  will  and  testament,  as  you  are  aware,  his  entire  prop- 
erty was  bequeathed  to  me,  with  the  single  exception  of 
a  hfe  interest  to  yourself  in  this  old  family  mansion,  and 
the  strip  of  patrimonial  estate  remainmg  attached  to  it." 

"  And  do  you  seek  to  deprive  us  of  that  ?  "  asked  Hep- 
zibah, unable  to  restrain  her  bitter  contenipt.  "  Is  this 
your  price  for  ceasing  to  persecute  poor  Clifford  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear  cousin  !  "  answered  the  Judge, 
smiling  benevolently.  "On  the  contrary,  as  you  must 
do  me  the  justice  to  own,  I  have  constantly  expressed 
my  readiness  to  double  or  treble  your  resources,  when- 
ever you  should  make  up  your  mind  to  accept  any  kind- 


THE    SCOWL   AND   SMILE.  267 

ness  of  that  nature  at  the  hands  of  your  kinsman.  No, 
no !  But  here  lies  the  gist  of  the  matter.  Of  my  uncle's 
unquestionably  great  estate,  as  I  have  said,  not  the  half 

—  no,  not  one  third,  as  I  am  fully  convinced  —  was  ap- 
parent after  his  death.  Now,  I  have  the  best  possible 
reasons  for  believing  that  your  brother  Clifford  can  give 
me  a  clew  to  the  recovery  of  the  remainder." 

"  Clifford !  —  ChfFord  know  of  any  hidden  wealth  ?  — 
Chfford  have  it  in  his  power  to  make  you  rich  ?  "  cried 
the  old  gentlewoman,  affected  with  a  sense  of  something 
like  ridicule,  at  the  idea.  "  Impossible  !  You  deceive 
yourself !     It  is  really  a  thing  to  laugh  at !  " 

"  It  is  as  certain  as  that  I  stand  here  !  "  said  Judge 
Pyncheon,  striking  his  gold-headed  cane  on  the  floor,  and 
at  the  same  time  stamping  his  foot,  as  if  to  express  his 
conviction  the  more  forcibly  by  the  whole  emphasis  of  his 
substantial  person.     "  Clifford  told  me  so  himself !  " 

"  No,  no  ! "  exclaimed  Hepzibah,  incredulously.  "  You 
are  dreaming,  Cousin  Jaffrey  !  " 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  the  dreaming  class  of  men/'  said 
the  Judge,  quietly.  "  Some  months  before  my  uncle's 
death,  Clifford  boasted  to  me  of  the  possession  of  the 
secret  of  incalculable  wealth.  His  purpose  was  to  taunt 
me,  and  excite  my  curiosity.  I  know  it  well.  But,  from 
a  pretty  distinct  recollection  of  the  particulars  of  our  con- 
versation, I  am  thoroughly  convinced  that  there  was  truth 
in  what  he  said.     Clifford,  at  this  moment,  if  he  chooses, 

—  and  choose  he  must !  —  can  inform  me  where  to  find 
the  schedule,  the  documents,  the  evidences,  in  whatever 
shape  they  exist,  of  the  vast  amount  of  Uncle  Jaffrey's 
missing  property.  He  has  the  secret.  His  boast  was 
no  idle  word.  It  had  a  directness,  an  emphasis,  a  partic- 
ularity, that  showed  a  backbone  of  solid  meaning  within 
the  mystery  of  his  expression." 


268   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  But  what  could  have  been  Clifford's  object,"  asked 
Hepzibah,  "  iu  concealmg  it  so  long  ?  " 

"  It  was  one  of  the  bad  impulses  of  our  fallen  nature/' 
replied  the  Judge,  turning  up  his  eyes.  "  He  looked 
upon  me  as  his  enemy.  He  considered  me  as  the  cause 
of  his  overwhelming  disgrace,  his  imminent  peril  of  death, 
his  irretrievable  ruin.  There  was  no  great  probability, 
therefore,  of  his  volunteering  information,  out  of  his  dun- 
geon, that  should  elevate  me  still  higher  on  the  ladder 
of  prosperity.  But  the  moment  has  now  come  when  he 
must  give  up  his  secret." 

"  And  what  if  he  should  refuse  ?  "  inquired  Hepzibah. 
"  Or,  —  as  I  steadfastly  believe,  —  what  if  he  has  no 
knowledge  of  this  wealth  ?  " 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  said  Judge  Pyncheon,  with  a  quie- 
tude which  he  had  the  power  of  making  more  formidable 
than  any  violence,  "  since  your  brother's  return,  I  have 
taken  the  precaution  (a  highly  proper  one  in  the  near 
kinsman  and  natural  guardian  of  an  individual  so  sit- 
uated) to  have  his  deportment  and  habits  constantly  and 
carefully  overlooked.  Your  neighbors  have  been  eye- 
witnesses to  whatever  has  passed  in  the  garden.  The__ 
butcher,  the  baker,  the  fish-monger,  some  of  the  custom- 
ers of  your  shop,  and  many  a  prying  old  woman,  have 
told  me  several  of  the  secrets  of  your  interior.  A  still 
larger  circle  —  I  myself,  among  the  rest  —  can  testify  to 
his  extravagances  at  the  arched  window.  Thousands 
beheld  him,  a  week  or  two  ago,  on  the  point  of  flinging 
himself  thence  into  the  street.  From  all  this  testimony, 
I  am  led  to  apprehend  —  reluctantly,  and  with  deep 
grief — that  CHfford's  misfortunes  have  so  affected  his 
intellect,  never  very  strong,  that  he  camiot  safely  remain 
at  large.  The  alternative,  you  must  be  aware,  —  and  its 
adoption  will  depend  entirely  on  the  decision  which  I  ajn 


THE    SCOWL   AND   SMILE.  269 

now  about  to  make,  —  the  alternative  is  his  confinement, 
probably  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  in  a  public  asylum, 
for  persons  in  his  unfortunate  state  of  mind." 

"  You  cannot  mean  it !  "  shrieked  Hepzibah. 

"  Should  my  cousin  Clifford,"  continued  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon,  wholly  undisturbed,  "  from  mere  malice,  and 
hatred  of  one  whose  interests  ought  naturally  to  be  dear 
to  him,  —  a  mode  of  passion  that,  as  often  as  any  other, 
indicates  mental  disease,  —  should  he  refuse  me  the  in- 
formation so  important  to  myself,  and  which  he  assuredly 
possesses,  I  shall  consider  it  the  one  needed  jot  of  evi- 
dence to  satisfy  my  mind  of  his  insanity.  And,  once 
sure  of  the  course  pointed  out  by  conscience,  you  know 
me  too  well,  Cousin  Hepzibah,  to  entertain  a  doubt  that 
I  shall  pursue  it." 

"  O  Jaffrey,  —  Cousin  Jaffi.*ey  !  "  cried  Hepzibah, 
mournfully,  not  passionately,  "  it  is  you  that  are  diseased 
in  mind,  not  Clifford  !  You  have  forgotten  that  a  woman 
was  your  mother  !  —  that  you  have  had  sisters,  brothers, 
children  of  your  own !  —  or  that  there  ever  was  affection 
between  man  and  man,  or  pity  from  one  man  to  another, 
in  this  miserable  world !  Else,  how  could  you  have 
dreamed  of  this  ?  You  are  not  young,  Cousin  Jaffrey  ! 
—  no,  nor  middle-aged,  —  but  already  an  old  man  !  The 
hair  is  white  upon  your  head  !  How  many  years  have 
you  to  Kve?  Are  you  not  rich  enough  for  that  little 
time  ?  Shall  you  be  hungry,  —  shall  you  lack  clothes, 
or  a  roof  to  shelter  you,  —  between  this  point  and  the 
grave  ?  No  !  but,  with  the  half  of  what  you  now  pos- 
sess, you  could  revel  in  costly  food  and  wines,  and  build 
a  house  twice  as  splendid  as  you  now  inhabit,  and  make 
a  far  greater  show  to  the  world,  —  and  yet  leave  riches 
to  your  only  son,  to  make  him  bless  the  hour  of  your 
death !     Then,   why   should    you  do   this   cruel,   cruel 


£70   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

tiling  ?  —  so  mad  a  thing,  that  I  know  not  whether  to 
call  it  wicked!  Alas,  Cousin  JafFrey,  this  hard  and 
grasping  spirit  has  run  in  our  blood  these  two  hundred 
years.  You  are  but  doing  over  again,  in  another  shape, 
what  your  ancestor  before  you  did,  and  sending  down  to 
your  posterity  the  curse  inherited  from  him  !  " 

"  Talk  sense,  Hepzibah,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Judge,  with  the  impatience  natural  to  a  reasonable 
man,  on  hearing  anything  so  utterly  absurd  as  the  above, 
in  a  discussion  about  matters  of  business.  "  I  have  told 
you  my  determination.  I  am  not  apt  to  change.  Clif- 
ford must  give  up  his  secret,  or  take  the  consequences. 
And  let  him  decide  quickly  ;  for  I  have  several  affairs  to 
attend  to,  tliis  morning,  and  an  important  dinner  engage- 
ment with  some  political  friends." 

"  Clifford  has  no  secret ! "  answered  Hepzibah.  "  And 
God  will  not  let  you  do  the  thing  you  meditate  !  " 

"  Yv^e  shall  see,"  said  the  unmoved  Judge.  "  Mean- 
while, choose  whether  you  will  summon  Clifford,  and  al- 
low this  business  to  be  amicably  settled  by  an  interview 
between  two  kinsmen,  or  drive  me  to  harsher  measures, 
which  I  should  be  most  happy  to  feel  myself  justified 
in  avoiding.  The  responsibility  is  altogether  on  your 
part." 

"  You  are  stronger  than  I,"  said  Hepzibah,  after  a  brief 
consideration ;  "  and  you  have  no  pity  in  your  strength ! 
Clifford  is  not  now  insane ;  but  the  interview  which  you 
insist  upon  may  go  far  to  make  him  so.  Nevertheless, 
knowing  you  as  I  do,  I  believe  it  to  be  my  best  course  to 
allow  you  to  judge  for  yourself  as  to  the  improbability  of 
his  possessing  any  valuable  secret.  I  will  call  Clifford. 
Be  merciful  in  your  deaUngs  with  him  1  —  be  far  more 
merciful  than  your  heart  bids  you  be  !  —  for  God  is  look- 
ing  at  you,  Jaffi-ey  Pyncheon !  " 


THE    SCOWL   AND   SMILE.  271 

The  ^'udge  followed  Ids  cousin  from  the  shop,  where 
the  foregoing  conversation  had  passed,  into  the  parlor, 
and  flung  himself  heavily  into  the  great  ancestral  chair. 
Many  a  former  Pyncheon  had  found  repose  in  its  capa- 
cious arms  :  —  rosy  children,  after  their  sports ;  young 
men,  dreamy  with  love ;  grown  men,  weary  with  cares ; 
old  men,  burdened  with  wmters  ;  —  they  had  mused,  and 
slumbered,  and  departed  to  a  yet  profounder  sleep.  It 
had  been  a  long  tradition,  though  a  doubtful  one,  that 
this  was  the  very  chair,  seated  in  which,  the  earliest  of 
the  Judge's  New  England  forefathers  —  he  whose  picture 
still  hung  upon  the  wall  —  had  given  a  dead  man's  silent 
and  stern  reception  to  the  throng  of  distinguished  guests. 
From  that  hour  of  evil  omen,  until  the  present,  it  may 
be,  —  though  we  know  not  the  secret  of  his  heart,  —  but 
it  may  be  that  no  wearier  and  sadder  man  had  ever  sunk 
into  the  chair  than  this  same  Judge  Pyncheon,  whom  we 
have  just  beheld  so  immitigably  hard  and  resolute.  Surely, 
it  must  have  been  at  no  slight  cost  that  he  had  thus  forti- 
fied his  soul  with  iron.  Such  calmness  is  a  mightier  effort 
than  the  violence  of  weaker  men.  And  there  was  yet  a 
heavy  task  for  him  to  do.  Was  it  a  little  matter,  —  a 
trifle  to  be  prepared  for  in  a  single  moment,  and  to  be 
rested  from  in  another  moment,  —  that  he  must  now, 
after  thirty  years,  encounter  a  kinsman  risen  from  a  liv- 
ing tomb,  and  wrench  a  secret  from  him,  or  else  consign 
him  to  a  living  tomb  again  ? 

"  Did  you  speak  ?  "  asked  Hepzibah,  looking  in  from 
the  thresliold  of  the  parlor;  for  she  imagined  that  the 
Judge  had  uttered  some  sound  which  she  was  anxious  to 
interpret  as  a  relentmg  impulse.  "  I  thought  you  called 
me  back." 

"  No,  no  !  "  gruffly  answered  Judge  Pyncheon,  with  a 
harsh  frown,  while  his  brow  grew  almost  a  black  purple. 


072   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

m  the  shadow  of  the  room.     "  Why.  should  I  call  you 
back  ?    Time  flies  !     Bid  Clifford  come  to  me  !  " 

The  Judge  had  taken  his  watch  from  his  vest-pocket, 
and  now  held  it  in  his  hand,  measuring  the  interval  which 
was  to  ensue  before  the  appearance  of  Clifford. 


XVI. 

CLIFFORD'S  CHAMBEE. 

EVER  had  the  old  house  appeared  so  dismal  to 
poor  Hepzibah  as  when  she  departed  on  that 
IE\  wretched  errand.  There  was  a  strange  aspect 
in  it.  As  she  trode  along  the  foot-worn  passages,  and 
opened  one  crazy  door  after  another,  and  ascended  the 
creaking  staircase,  she  gazed  wistfully  and  fearfully  around. 
It  would  have  been  no  marvel,  to  her  excited  mind,  if, 
behind  or  beside  her,  there  had  been  the  rustle  of  dead 
people's  garments,  or  pale  visages  awaiting  her  on  the 
landing-place  above.  Her  nerves  were  set  all  ajar  by  the 
scene  of  passion  and  terror  through  which  she  had  just 
struggled.  Her  colloquy  with  Judge  Pyncheon,  who  so 
perfectly  represented  the  person  and  attributes  of  the 
founder  of  the  family,  had  called  back  the  dreary  past. 
It  weighed  upon  her  heart.  Whatever  she  had  heard, 
from  legendary  aunts  and  grandmothers,  concerning  the 
good  or  evil  fortunes  of  the  Pyncheons,  —  stories  which 
had  heretofore  been  kept  warm  in  her  remembrance  by 
the  chimney-corner  glow  that  was  associated  with  them, 
—  now  recurred  to  her,  sombre,  ghastly,  cold,  like  most 
passages  of  family  history,  when  brooded  over  in  melan- 
choly mood.     The  whole  seemed  little  else  but  a  series 


274   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

of  calamity,  reproducing  itself  in  successive  generations, 
with  one  general  hue,  and  varying  in  Httle,  save  the  out- 
line. But  Hepzibah  noTv  felt  as  if  the  Judge,  and  CHf- 
ford,  and  herself,  —  they  three  together,  —  were  on  the 
point  of  adding  another  incident  to  the  annals  of  the 
house,  with  a  bolder  relief  of  wrong  and  sorrow,  which 
would  cause  it  to  stand  out  from  all  the  rest.  Thus  it  is 
that  the  grief  of  the  passing  moment  takes  upon  itself  an 
individuahty,  and  a  character  of  climax,  which  it  is  des- 
tined to  lose,  after  a  while,  and  to  fade  into  the  dark  gray 
tissue  common  to  the  grave  or  glad  events  of  many  years 
ago.  It  is  but  for  a  moment,  comparatively,  that  anything 
looks  strange  or  startling ;  —  a  truth  that  has  the  bitter 
and  the  sweet  in  it. 

But  Hepzibah  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  sense  of 
something  miprecedented  at  that  instant  passing  and 
soon  to  be  accomplished.  Her  nerves  were  in  a  shake. 
Instinctively  she  paused  before  the  arched  window,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  street,  in  order  to  seize  its  perma- 
nent objects  with  her  mental  grasp,  and  thus  to  steady 
herself  from  the  reel  and  %-ibration  which  affected  her 
more  immediate  sphere.  It  brought  her  up,  as  we  may 
say,  with  a  kind  of  shock,  when  she  beheld  everything 
under  the  same  appearance  as  the  day  before,  and  num- 
berless preceding  days,  except  for  the  difference  between 
sunshine  and  sullen  storm.  Her  eyes  travelled  along  the 
street,  from  doorstep  to  doorstep,  noting  the  wet  side- 
walks, with  here  and  there  a  puddle  in  hollows  that  had 
been  imperceptible  until  filled  with  water.  She  screwed 
her  dim  optics  to  their  acutest  point,  in  the  hope  of  mak- 
ing out,  with  greater  distinctness,  a  certain  window, 
where  she  half  saw,  half  guessed,  that  a  tailor's  seam- 
stress was  sitting  at  her  work.  Hepzibah  flung  herself 
upon  that  unknown  woman's  companionship,  even  thus 


CLIFFORD'S    CHAMBER.  275 

far  off.  Then  she  was  attracted  by  a  chaise  rapidly  pass- 
ing, and  watched  its  moist  and  glistening  top,  and  its 
splashing  wheels,  until  it  had  turned  the  corner,  and 
refused  to  carry  any  further  her  idly  trifling,  because 
appalled  and  overburdened,  mind.  When  the  vehicle 
had  disappeared,  she  allowed  herself  still  another  loiter- 
ing moment ;  for  the  patched  figure  of  good  Uncle  Ven- 
ner  was  now  visible,  coming  slowly  from  the  head  of  the 
street  downward,  with  a  rheumatic  Ump,  because  the  east 
wind  had  got  into  his  joints.  Hepzibah  wished  that  he 
would  pass  yet  more  slowly,  and  befriend  her  shivering 
sohtude  a  little  longer.  Anything  that  would  take  her 
out  of  the  grievous  present,  and  interpose  human  beings 
betwixt  herself  and  what  was  nearest  to  her,  —  whatever 
would  defer,  for  an  instant,  the  inevitable  errand  on  which 
she  was  bound,  —  all  such  impediments  were  welcome. 
Next  to  the  lightest  heart,  the  heaviest  is  apt  to  be  most 
playful. 

Hepzibah  had  little  hardihood  for  her  own  proper  pain, 
and  far  less  for  what  ^,he  must  inflict  on  Clifford.  Of  so 
slight  a  nature,  and  so  shattered  by  his  previous  calami- 
ties,  it  could  not  well  be  short  of  utter  ruin  to  bring  liim 
face  to  face  with  the  hard,  relentless  man,  who  had  been 
his  evil  destiny  through  life.  Even  had  there  been  no 
bitter  recollections,  nor  any  hostile  interest  now  at  stake 
between  them,  the  mere  natural  repugnance  of  the  more 
sensitive  system  to  the  massive,  weighty,  and  unimpres- 
sible  one,  must,  in  itself,  have  been  disastrous  to  the 
Jprmer.  It  would  be  hke  flinging  a  porcelain  vase,  with 
already  a  crack  in  it,  against  a  granite  column.  Never 
before  had  Hepzibah  so  adequately  estimated  the  power- 
ful character  of  her  Cousin  Jaff'rey,  —  powerful  by  intel- 
lect, energy  of  will,  the  long  habit  of  acting  among  men, 
and,  as  she  believed,  by  his  unscrupulous  pursuit  of 


276   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

selfish  ends  througli  evil  means.  It  did  but  increase  the 
difficulty,  that  Judge  Pjiicheon  was  under  a  delusion  as 
to  the  secret  which  he  supposed  Clifford  to  possess. 
Men  of  his  strength  of  purpose,  and  customary  sagacity, 
if  they  chance  to  adopt  a  mistaken  opinion  in  practical 
matters,  so  wedge  it  and  fasten  it  among  things  known 
to  be  true,  that  to  wrench  it  out  of  their  minds  is 
hardly  less  difficult  than  pulling  up  an  oak.  Thus,  as 
the  Judge  required  an  impossibility  of  Clifford,  the  lat- 
ter, as  he  could  not  perform  it,  must  needs  perish. 
For  what,  in  the  grasp  of  a  man  hke  this,  was  to  be- 
come of  Chfford's  soft,  poetic  nature,  that  never  should 
have  had  a  task  more  stubborn  than  to  set  a  life  of 
beautiful  enjoyment  to  the  flow  and  rhythm  of  musical 
cadences !  Indeed,  what  had  become  of  it  already  ? 
Broken !  BUghted  !  All  but  annihilated  !  Soon  to  be 
wholly  so!  ■ 

For  a  moment,  the  thought  crossed  Hepzibah's  mind, 
whether  CHfFord  might  not  really  have  such  knowledge 
of  their  deceased  uncle's  vanished, estate  as  the  Judge 
imputed  to  him.  She  remembered  some  vague  intima- 
tions, on  her  brother's  part,  which  —  if  the  supposition 
were  not  essentially  preposterous  —  might  have  been  so 
interpreted.  There  had  been  schemes  of  travel  and  resi- 
dence abroad,  day-dreams  of  brilHaut  life  at  home,  and 
splendid  castles  in  the  air,  which  it  would  have  required 
boundless  wealth  to  build  and  realize.  Had  this  wealth 
been  in  her  power,  how  gladly  would  Hepzibah  have  be- 
stowed it  all  upon  her  iron-hearted  kinsman,  to  buy  for 
Clifford  the  freedom  and  seclusion  of  the  desolate  old^ 
house!  But  she  believed  that  her  brother's  schemes 
were  as  destitute  of  actual  substance  and  purpose  as  a 
child's  pictures  of  its  future  life,  while  sitting  in  a  Httle 
chair  by  its  mother's  knee.     Clifford  had  none  but  shad- 


CLIFFORD'S    CHAMBER.  277 

owy  gold  at  his  command ;  and  it  was  not  the  stuff  to 
satisfy  Judge  Pyneheon  ! 

Was  there  no  help,  in  their  extremity  ?  It  seemed 
strange  that  there  should  be  none,  with  a  city  round 
about  her.  It  would  be  so  easy  to  throw  up  the  win- 
dow, and  send  forth  a  shriek,  at  the  strange  agony  of 
which  everybody  would  come  hastening  to  the  rescue, 
well  understanding  it  to  be  the  cry  of  a  human  soul,  at 
some  dreadful  crisis  !  But  how  wild,  how  almost  laugh- 
able, the  fatality,  —  and  yet  how  continually  it  comes  to 
pass,  thought  Hepzibah,  in  this  dull  delirium  of  a  world, 
—  that  whosoever,  and  with  however  kindly  a  purpose, 
should  come  to  help,  they  would  be  sure  to  help  the 
strongest  side  !  Might  and  wrong  combined,  like  iron 
magnetized,  are  endowed  with  irresistible  attraction. 
There  would  be  Judge  Pyneheon,  —  a  person  eminent  in 
the  public  view,  of  high  station  and  great  wealth,  a  phi- 
lanthropist, a  member  of  Congress  and  of  the  church,  and 
intimately  associated  with  whatever  else  bestows  good 
name,  —  so  imposing,  in  these  advantageous  lights,  that 
Hepzibah  herself  could  hardly  help  shrinking  from  her 
own  conclusions  as  to  his  hollow  integrity.  The  Judge, 
on  one  side  !  And  who,  on  the  other  ?  The  guilty  Clif- 
ford !  Once  a  by-word  !  Now,  an  indistinctly  remem- 
bered ignominy  ! 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  this  perception  that  the  Judge 
would  draw  all  human  aid  to  his  own  behalf,  Hepzibah  was 
so  unaccustomed  to  act  for  herself,  that  the  least  word  of 
counsel  would  have  swayed  her  to  any  mode  of  action. 
Little  Phcebe  Pyneheon  would  at  once  have  lighted  up  the 
whole  scene,  if  not  by  any  available  suggestion,  yet  simply 
by  the  warm  vivacity  of  her  character.  The  idea  of  the 
artist  occurred  to  Hepzibah.  Young  and  unknowTi,  mere 
yagrant  adventurer  as  he  was,  she  had  been  conscious  of 


278   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

a  force  in  Holgrave  which  might  well  adapt  hiin  to  be  the 
champion  of  a  crisis.  With  this  thought  in  her  mind, 
she  unbolted  a  door,  cobwebbed  and  long  disused,  but 
which  had  served  as  a  former  medium  of  communication 
between  her  own  part  of  the  house  and  the  gable  where 
the  wandering  daguerreotypist  had  now.  estabhshed  his 
temporary  home.  He  was  not  there.  A  book,  face 
downward,  on  the  table,  a  roll  of  manuscript,  a  half- writ- 
ten sheet,  a  newspaper,  some  tools  of  his  present  occupa- 
tion, and  several  rejected  daguerreotypes,  conveyed  an 
impression  as  if  he  were  close  at  hand.  But,  at  this 
period  of  tne  day,  as  Hepzibah  might  have  anticipated, 
the  artist  was  at  his  public  rooms.  With  an  impulse  of 
idle  curiosity,  that  flickered  among  her  heavy  thoughts, 
she  looked  at  one  of  the  daguerreotypes,  and  beheld 
Judge  Pyncheon  frowning  at  her.  Fate  stared  her  in 
the  face,  fehe  turned  back  from  her  fruitless  quest,  with 
a  heart-sinking  sense  of  disappointment.  In  all  her 
years  of  seclusion,  she  had  never  felt,  as  now,  what  it 
was  to  be  alone.  It  seemed  as  if  the  house  stood  in  a 
desert,  or,  Dy  some  spell,  was  made  invisible  to  those 
who  dwelt  around,  or  passed  beside  it ;  so  that  any  mode 
of  misfortune,  miserable  accident,  or  crime  might  happen 
in  it  without  the  possibility  of  aid.  In  her  grief  and 
wounded  pride,  Hepzibah  had  spent  her  life  in  divesting 
herself  of  friends  ;  she  had  wilfully  cast  off  the  support 
which  God  has  ordained  his  creatures  to  need  from  one 
another  ;  and  it  was  now  her  punishment,  that  Clifford 
and  herself  would  fall  the  easier  victims  to  their  kindred 
enemy. 

Returning  to  the  arched  window,  she  lifted  her  eyes, 
—  scowhng,  poor,  dim-sighted  Hepzibah,  in  the  face  of 
Heaven  !  —  and  strove  hard  to  send  up  a  prayer  through 
the  dense  gray  pavement  of  clouds.     Those  mists  had 


CLIFFORD'S   CHAMBER.  279 

gathered,  as  if  to  symbolize  a  great,  brooding  mass  of 
human  trouble,  doubt,  confusion,  and  chill  indifference, 
between  earth  and  the  better  regions.  Her  faith  was  too 
weak ;  the  prayer  too  heavy  to  be  thus  uplifted.  It  fell 
back,  a  lump  of  lead,  upon  her  heart.  It  smote  her  with 
the  wretched  conviction  that  Providence  intermeddled 
not  in  these  petty  wrongs  of  one  individual  to  bis  fel- 
low, nor  had  any  balm  for  these  little  agonies  of  a  soli- 
tary soul ;  but  shed  its  justice,  and  its  mercy,  in  a  broad, 
sunlike  sweep,  over  half  the  universe  at  once.  Its  vast- 
ness  made  it  nothmg.  But  Hepzibah  did  not  see  that, 
just  as  there  comes  a  warm  sunbeam  into  every  cottage 
wmdow,  so  comes  a  love-beam  of  God's  care  and  pity,  for 
every  separate  need. 

At  last,  finduig  no  other  pretext  for  deferring  tlie  tor- 
ture that  she  was  to  inflict  on  Chfford,  —  her  reluctance 
to  which  was  the  true  cause  of  her  loitering  at  the  win- 
dow, her  search  for  the  artist,  and  even  her  abortive 
prayer,  —  dreading,  also,  to  hear  the  stern  voice  of  Judge 
Pyncheon  from  below  stairs,  chiding  her  delay,  —  she 
crept  slowly,  a  pale,  grief-stricken  figure,  a  dismal  shape 
of  woman,  with  almost  torpid  hmbs,  slowly  to  her  broth- 
er's door,  aud  knocked ! 

There  was  no  reply  ! 

And  how  should  there  have  been  ?  Her  hand,  tremu- 
lous with  the  shrinking  purpose  which  directed  it,  had 
smitten  so  feebly  against  the  door  that  the  sound  could 
hardly  have  gone  inward.  She  knocked  again.  Still, 
no  response  !  Nor  was  it  to  be  wondered  at.  She  had 
struck  with  the  entire  force  of  her  heart's  vibration,  com- 
municating, by  some  subtile  magnetism,  her  own  terror 
to  the  summons.  Clifford  would  turn  his  face  to  the  pil- 
low, and  cover  his  head  beneath  the  bedclothes,  like  a 
startled  child  at  midnight.     She  knocked  a  third  time, 


280   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

three  regular  strokes,  gentle,  but  perfectly  distinct,  and 
with  meaning  in  them ;  for,  modulate  it  with  what  cau- 
tious art  we  will,  the  hand  cannot  help  playing  some  tune 
of  what  we  feel,  upon  the  senseless  wood. 

Clifford  returned  no  answer. 

"  Clifford !  dear  brother  !  "  said  Hepzibah.  "  Shall  I 
come  in  ?  " 

A  silence. 

Two  or  three  times,  and  more,  Hepzibah  repeated  his 
name,  without  result ;  till,  thinking  her  brother's  sleep 
unwontedly  profound,  she  undid  the  door,  and  entermg, 
found  the  chamber  vacant.  How  could  he  have  come 
forth,  and  when,  without  her  knowledge  ?  Was  it  possi- 
ble that,  in  spite  of  the  stormy  day,  and  worn  out  with 
the  irksomeness  within  doors,  he  had  betaken  himself  to 
his  customary  haunt  in  the  garden,  and  was  now  shiver- 
iug  under  the  cheerless  shelter  of  the  summer-house  ? 
She  hastily  threw  up  a  window,  thrust  forth  her  turbaued 
head  and  the  half  of  her  gaunt  figure,  and  searched  the 
whole  garden  through,  as  completely  as  her  dim  vision 
would  allow.  She  could  see  the  interior  of  the  summer- 
house,  and  its  circular  seat,  kept  moist  by  the  droppings 
of  the  roof.  It  had  no  occupant.  Clifford  was  not  there- 
abouts; unless,  indeed,  he  had  crepe  for  concealment 
(as,  for  a  moment,  Hepzibah  fancied  might  be  the  case) 
into  a  great  wet  mass  of  tangled  and  broad-leaved 
shadow,  where  the  squash-vines  were  clambering  tumult- 
uously  upon  an  old  wooden  framework,  set  casually 
aslant  against  the  fence.  This  could  not  be,  however; 
he  was  not  there ;  for,  wliile  Hepzibah  was  looking,  a 
strange  grimalkin  stole  fortli  from  the  very  spot,  and 
picked  his  way  across  the  garden.  Twice  he  paused  to 
snuff  the  air,  and  then  anew  directed  his  course  towards 
the  parlor  window.     Whether  it  was  only  on  account  of 


CLIFFORD'S    CHAMBER.  281 

the  stealthy,  paying  manner  common  to  the  race,  or  that 
this  cat  seemed  to  have  more  than  ordinary  mischief  in 
his  thoughts,  the  old  gentlewoman,  in  spite  of  her  much 
perplexity,  felt  an  impulse  to  drive  the  animal  away,  and 
accordingly  flung  down  a  window-stick.  The  cat  stared 
up  at  her,  like  a  detected  thief  or  murderer,  and,  the  next 
instant,  took  to  flight.  No  other  living  creature  was 
visible  in  the  garden.  Chanticleer  and  his  family  had 
either  not  left  their  roost,  disheartened  by  the  intermina- 
ble rain,  or  had  done  the  next  wisest  thing,  by  seasonably 
returning  to  it.     Hepzibah  closed  the  window. 

But  where  was  Clifford  ?  Could  it  be  that,  aware  of 
the  presence  of  his  Evil  Destiny,  he  had  crept  silently 
down  the  staircase,  while  the  Judge  and  Hepzibah  stood 
talking  in  the  shop,  and  had  softly  undone  the  fastenings 
of  the  outer  door,  and  made  his  escape  into  the  street  ? 
With  that  thought,  she  seemed  to  behold  his  gray,  wrin- 
kled, yet  childlike  aspect,  in  the  old-fashioned  garments 
which  he  wore  about  the  house;  a  figure  such  as  one 
sometimes  imagines  himself  to  be,  with  the  world's  eye 
upon  him,  in  a  troubled  dream.  This  figure  of  her 
wretched  brother  would  go  wandering  through  the  city, 
attracting  all  eyes,  and  everybody's  wonder  and  repug- 
nance, like  a  ghost,  the  more  to  be  shuddered  at  because 
visible  at  noontide.  To  incur  the  ridicule  of  the  younger 
crowd,  that  knew  him  not, — the  harsher  scorn  and  in- 
dignation of  a  few  old  men,  who  might  recall  his  once 
familiar  features !  To  be  the  sport  of  boys,  who,  when 
old  enough  to  run  about  the  streets,  have  no  more  rever- 
ence for  what  is  beautiful  and  holy,  nor  pity  for  what  is 
sad,  —  no  more  sense  of  sacred  misery,  sanctifying  tha 
human  shape  in  which  it  embodies  itself,  —  than  if  Satan 
were  the  father  of  them  all !  Goaded  by  their  taunts, 
their  loud,  shrill  cries,  and  cruel  laughter,  —  insulte^^  bj" 


282   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

the  filth  of  the  public  ways,  which  they  would  fling  upo» 
him,  —  or,  as  it  might  well  be,  distracted  by  the  mere 
strangeness  of  his  situation,  though  nobody  should  afflict 
him  with  so  much  as  a  thoughtless  word,  —  what  wonder 
if  Clifford  were  to  break  into  some  wild  extravagance 
which  was  certain  to  be  interpreted  as  lunacy  ?  Thus 
Judge  Pyncheon's  fiendish  scheme  would  be  ready  accom- 
pHshed  to  his  hands  ! 

Then  Hepzibah  reflected  that  the  town  was  almost  com- 
pletely water-girdled.  The  wharves  stretched  out  towards 
the  centre  of  the  harbor,  and,  in  this  inclement  weather, 
were  deserted  by  the  ordinary  throng  of  merchants,  labor- 
ers, and  sea-faring  men ;  each  wharf  a  solitude,  with  the 
vessels  moored  stem  and  stern,  along  its  misty  length. 
Should  her  brother's  aimless  footsteps  stray  thitherward, 
and  he  but  bend,  one  moment,  over  the  deep,  black  tide, 
would  he  not  bethink  himself  that  here  was  the  sure 
refuge  within  his  reach,  and  that,  with  a  single  step,  or 
the  slightest  overbalance  of  his  body,  he  might  be  forever 
beyond  his  kinsman's  gripe  ?  O,  the  temptation !  To 
make  of  his  ponderous  sorrow  a  security  !  To  sink,  with 
its  leaden  weight  upon  him,  and  never  rise  again ! 

The  horror  of  this  last  conception  was  too  much  for 
Hepzibah.  Even  Jaffrey  Pyncheon  must  help  her  now  ! 
She  hastened  down  the  staircase,  shrieking  as  she  went. 

"  Cliff"ord  is  gone  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  cannot  find  my 
brother !  Help,  Jaffrey  Pyncheon !  Some  harm  will 
happen  to  him  !  " 

She  threw  open  the  parlor-door.  But,  what  with  the 
shade  of  branches  across  the  windows,  and  the  smoke- 
blackened  ceiling,  and  the  dark  oak-panelling  of  the  walls, 
there  was  hardly  so  much  daylight  in  the  room  that  Hep- 
zibah's  imperfect  sight  could  accurately  distinguish  the 
Judge's  figure.     She  was  certain,  however,  that  she  saw 


CLIFFORD'S   CHAMBER.  283 

him  sitting  in  the  ancestral  arm-chair,  near  the  centre  of 
the  floor,  with  his  face  somewhat  averted,  and  looking 
towards  a  window.  So  firm  and  quiet  is  the  nervous  sys- 
tem of  such  men  as  Judge  Pyncheon,  that  he  had  perhaps 
stirred  not  more  than  once  since  her  departure,  but,  in 
the  hard  composure  of  his  temperament,  retained  the  posi- 
tion into  which  accident  had  thrown  him. 

"  I  tell  you,  Jaffrey,"  cried  Hepzibah,  impatiently,  as 
she  turned  from  the  parlor-door  to  search  other  rooms, 
"  my  brother  is  not  in  his  chamber  !  You  must  help  me 
seek  him  ! " 

But  Judge  Pyncheon  was  not  the  man  to  let  himself 
be  startled  from  an  easy-chair  with  haste  ill-befitting 
either  the  dignity  of  his  character  or  his  broad  personal 
basis,  by  the  alarm  of  an  hysteric  woman.  Yet,  consid- 
ering his  own  interest  in  the  matter,  he  might  have  be- 
stirred himself  with  a  little  more  alacrity. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Jafi'rey  Pyncheon  ?  "  screamed  Hep- 
zibah, as  she  again  approached  the  parlor-door,  after  an 
inefi'ectual  search  elsewhere.     "  Clifford  is  gone !  " 

At  this  instant,  on  the  threshold  of  the  parlor,  emer- 
ging from  within,  appeared  Clifford  himself!  His  face 
was  preteriiaturally  pale  ;  so  deadly  white,  indeed,  that, 
through  all  the  glimmering  indistinctness  of  the  passage- 
way, Hepzibah  could  discern  his  features,  as  if  a  light 
fell  on  them  alone.  Their  vivid  and  wild  expression 
seemed  likewise  sufficient  to  illuminate  them  ;  it  was  an 
expression  of  scorn  and  mockery,  coinciding  with  the 
emotions  indicated  by  his  gesture.  As  Ciifibrd  stood  on 
the  threshold,  partly  turning  back,  he  pointed  his  finger 
within  the  parlor,  and  shook  it  slowly  as  thougli  he 
would  have  summoned,  not  Hepzibah  alone,  but  the 
whole  world,  to  gaze  at  some  object  inconceivably  ridic- 
ulous.    This  action,  so  iU-timed  and  extra vaf?ant,  —  ao 


284   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

companied,  too,  witli  a  look  that  showed  more  like  joy 
than  any  other  kind  of  excitement,  —  compelled  Hepzi- 
bah  to  dread  that  her  stern  kinsman's  ominous  visit  had 
driven  her  poor  brother  to  absolute  insanity.  Nor  could 
she  otherwise  account  for  the  Judge's  quiescent  mood 
than  by  supposing  him  craftily  on  the  watch,  while  Clif- 
ford developed  these  symptoms  of  a  distracted  mind. 

"  Be  quiet,  Chfford  !  "  whispered  his  sister,  raising  her 
hand,  to  impress  caution.  "  0,  for  Heaven's  sake,  be 
quiet !  " 

"  Let  him  be  quiet !  What  can  he  do  better  ?  "  an- 
swered Clifford,  with  a  still  wilder  gesture,  pointing  into 
the  room  which  he  had  just  quitted.  "  As  for  us,  Hep- 
zibah,  we  can  dance  now !  —  we  can  sing,  laugh,  play, 
do  what  we  will !  The  weight  is  gone,  Hepzibah  !  it  is 
gone  off  this  weary  old  world,  and  we  may  be  as  light- 
hearted  as  little  Phoebe  herself!  " 

And,  in  accordance  with  his  words,  he  began  to  laugh, 
still  pointing  his  finger  at  the  object,  invisible  to  Hepzi- 
bah, within  the  parlor.  She  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
intuition  of  some  horrible  thing.  She  thrust  herself  past 
Clifford,  and  disappeared  into  the  room ;  but  almost  im- 
mediately returned,  with  a  cry  choking  in  her  throat. 
Gazing  at  her  brother,  with  an  affrighted  glance  of  in- 
quiry, she  beheld  him  all  in  a  tremor  and  a  quake,  from 
head  to  foot,  while,  amid  these  commoted  elements  of 
passion  or  alarm,  still  flickered  his  gusty  mirth. 

"  My  God !  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?  "  gasped  Hep- 
zibah. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Clifford,  in  a  tone  of  brief  decision,  most 
unlike  what  was  usual  with  him.  *'  We  stay  here  too 
long  !  Let  us  leave  the  old  house  to  our  cousin  Jaffrey  ! 
He  will  take  good  care  of  it !  " 

Hepzibah  now  noticed  that  Clifford  had  on  a  cloak,  — • 


CLIFFORD'S    CHAMBER.  285 

a  garment  of  long  ago,  —  in  which  he  had  constantly 
muffled  himself  during  these  days  of  easterly  storm.  He 
beckoned  with  his  hand,  and  intimated,  so  far  as  she 
could  comprehend  him,  his  purpose  that  they  should  go 
together  from  the  house.  There  are  chaotic,  blind,  or 
drunken  moments,  in  the  lives  of  persons  who  lack  real 
force  of  character,  —  moments  of  test,  in  which  courage 
would  most  assert  itself,  —  but  where  these  individuals, 
if  left  to  themselves,  stagger  aimlessly  along,  or  follow 
implicitly  whatever  guidance  may  befall  them,  even  if  it 
be  a  child's.  No  matter  how  preposterous  or  insane,  a 
purpose  is  a  God-send  to  them.  Hepzibah  had  reached 
this  point.  Unaccustomed  to  action  or  responsibility, 
—  full  ot  horror  at  what  she  had  seen,  and  afraid  to  in- 
quire, or  almost  to  imagine,  how  it  had  come  to  pass,  — 
affrighted  at  the  fatality  which  seemed  to  pursue  her 
brother,  —  stupefied  by  the  dim,  thick,  stifling  atmos- 
phere of  dread,  which  filled  the  house  as  with  a  death- 
smell,  and  obliterated  all  definiteness  of  thought,  —  she 
yielded  without  a  question,  and  on  the  instant,  to  the 
will  which  Clifford  expressed.  For  herself,  she  was  like 
a  person  in  a  dream,  when  the  will  always  sleeps.  Clif- 
ford, ordinarily  so  destitute  of  this  faculty,  had  found  it 
in  the  tension  of  the  crisis. 

"  Why  do  you  delay  so  ?  "  cried  he,  sharply.  "  Put 
on  your  cloak  and  hood,  or  whatever  it  pleases  you  to 
wear  !  No  matter  what ;  —  you  cannot  look  beautiful 
nor  brilliant,  my  poor  Hepzibah  !  Take  your  purse,  with 
money  in  it,  and  come  along  !  " 

Hepzibah  obeyed  these  instructions,  as  if  nothing  else 
were  to  be  done  or  thought  of.  She  began  to  wonder,  it 
is  true,  why  she  did  not  wake  up,  and  at  what  still  more 
intolerable  pitch  of  dizzy  trouble  her  spirit  would  strug- 
gle out  of  the  maze,  and  make  her  conscious  that  nothing 


286   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

of  all  this  had  actually  happened.  Of  course  it  vrhs  not 
real ;  no  such  black,  easterly  day  as  this  had  yet  begun 
to  be ;  Judge  Pyncheon  had  not  talked  with  her ;  Clif- 
ford had  not  laughed,  pointed,  beckoned  her  away  with 
him ;  but  she  had  merely  been  afflicted  —  as  lonely  sleep- 
ers often  are  -7-  with  a  great  deal  of  unreasonable  misery, 
in  a  morning  dream  ! 

"Now  —  now  —  I  shall  cert.iinly  awake!"  thought 
Hepzibah,  as  she  went  to  and  fro,  making  her  little 
preparations.  "  I  can  bear  it  no  longer  !  I  must  wake 
up  now ! " 

But  it  came  not,  that  awakening  moment !  It  came 
not,  even  when,  just  before  they  left  the  house,  Chfford. 
stole  to  the  parlor-door,  and  made  a  parting  obeisance  to 
the  sole  occupant  of  the  room. 

"  What  an  absurd  figure  the  old  fellow  cuts  now ! " 
whispered  he  to  Hepzibah.  "  Just  when  he  fancied  he 
had  me  completely  under  his  thumb !  Come,  come ; 
make  haste !  or  he  will  start  up,  like  Giant  Despair  in 
pursuit  of  Christian  and  Hopeful,  and  catch  us  yet !  " 

As  they  passed  into  the  street,  CUfford  directed  Hep- 
zibah's  attention  to  something  on  one  of  the  posts  of  the 
front  door.  It  was  merely  the  initials  of  his  own  name, 
which,  with  somewhat  of  his  characteristic  grace  about 
the  forms  of  the  letters,  he  had  cut  there,  when  a  boy. 
The  brotlier  and  sister  departed,  and  left  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon sitting  in  the  old  home  of  his  forefathers,  all  by 
himself ;  so  heavy  and  lumpish  that  we  can  liken  him  to 
nothing  better  than  a  defunct  nightmare,  which  had  per- 
ished in  the  midst  of  its  wickedness,  and  left  its  flabby 
corpse  on  the  breast  of  the  tormented  one,  to  be  gotten 
rid  of  as  it  might ! 


XYII. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  TWO  OWLS. 


UMMEU  as  it  was,  the  east  -wind  set  poor  Ixep- 
zibali's  few  remaining  teeth  chattering  in  her 
head,  as  she  and  Clilford  faced  it,  on  their  way 
up  P;yncheon  Street,  and  towards  the  centre  of  the  town. 
Not  merely  was  it  the  shiver  which  this  pitiless  blast 
brought  to  her  frame  (although  her  feet  and  hands,  espe- 
cially, had  never  seemed  so  death-a-cold  as  now),  but 
there  was  a  moral  sensation,  mingling  itself  with  the 
physical  chill,  and  causing  her  to  shake  more  jn  spirit 
than  in  body.  The  world's  broad,  bleak  atmosphere  was 
all  so  comfortless  !  Such,  indeed,  is  the  impression  which 
it  makes  on  every  new  adventurer,  even  if  he  plunge  into 
it  while  the  warmest  tide  of  life  is  bubbling  through  his 
veins.  What,  then,  must  it  have  been  to  Hepzibah  and 
CliiFord,  —  so  time-stricken  as  they  were,  yet  so  like  chil- 
dren in  their  inexperience, — as  they  left  the  doorstep, 
and  passed  from  beneath  the  wide  shelter  of  the  Pyn- 
cheon  Elm !  They  were  wandering  all  abroad,  on  pre- 
cisely such  a  pilgrimage  as  a  child  often  meditates,  to  the 
world's  end,  with  perhaps  a  sixpence  and  a  biscuit  in  his 
pocket.  In  Hepzibah's  mind,  there  was  the  wretched 
consciousness  of  being  adrift.     She  had  lost  the  faculty 


288   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

of  self-guidance ;  but,  in  view  of  tte  difficulties  around 
her,  felt  it  hardly  worth  an  effort  to  regaui  it,  and  was, 
moreover,  incapable  of  making  one. 

As  they  proceeded  on  their  strange  expedition  she  now 
and  then  cast  a  look  sidelong  at  Clifford,  and  could  not  but 
observe  that  he  was  possessed  and  swayed  by  a  powerful 
excitement.  It  was  this,  indeed,  that  gave  him  the  control 
which  he  had  at  once,  and  so  irresistibly,  established  over 
his  movements.  It  not  a  little  resembled  the  exhilaration 
of  wine.  Or,  it  might  more  fancifully  be  compared  to  a 
joyous  piece  of  music,  played  with  wild  vivacity,  but  upon 
a  disordered  instrument.  As  the  cracked  jarring  note 
might  always  be  heard,  and  as  it  jarred  loudest  amid  the 
loftiest  exultation  of  the  melody,  so  was  there  a  continual 
quake  through  Clifford,  causing  him  most  to  quiver  while 
he  wore  a  triumphant  smile,  and  seemed  almost  under  a 
necessity  to  skip  in  his  gait. 

They  met  few  people  abroad,  even  on  passing  from  the 
retired  neighborhood  of  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables 
into  what  was  ordinarily  the  more  thronged  and  busier 
portion  of  the  town.  Ghstening  sidewalks,  with  Httle 
pools  of  rain,  here  and  there,  along  their  unequal  surface ; 
umbrellas  displayed  ostentatiously  in  the  shop-windows, 
as  if  the  hfe  of  trade  had  concentred  itself  in  that  one 
article ;  wet  leaves  of  the  horse-chestnut  or  elm  trees, 
torn  off  untimely  by  the  blast  and  scattered  along  the 
public  way ;  an  unsightly  accumulation  of  mud  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  which  perversely  grew  the  more  un- 
clean for  its  long  and  laborious  washing  ;  —  these  were 
the  more  definable  pomts  of  a  very  sombre  picture.  In 
the  way  of  movement,  and  human  life,  there  was  the 
hasty  rattle  of  a  cab  or  coach,  its  driver  protected  by  a 
water-proof  cr.p  over  his  head  and  shoulders ;  the  forlorn 
figure  of  an  old  man,  who  seemed  to  have  crept  out  of  some 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    TWO    OWLS.  28^ 

subterranean  sewer,  and  was  stooping  along  the  kennel, 
and  poking  the  wet  rubbish  with  a  stick,  in  quest  of 
rusty  nails  ;  a  merchant  or  two,  at  the  door  of  the  post- 
office,  together  with  an  editor,  and  a  miscellaneous  politi- 
cian, awaiting  a  dilatory  mail ;  a  few  visages  of  retired 
sea-captains  at  the  window  of  an  insurance  office,  look- 
ing out  vacantly  at  the  vacant  street,  blaspheming  at  the 
weather,  and  fretting  at  the  dearth  as  well  of  public  news 
as  local  gossip.  What  a  treasure-trove  to  these  venerable 
quidnuncs,  could  they  have  guessed  the  secret  which  Hep- 
zibah  and  Clifford  were  carrying  along  with  them  !  But 
their  two  figures  attracted  hardly  so  much  notice  as  that 
of  a  young  girl,  who  passed  at  the  same  instant,  and 
happened  to  raise  her  skirt  a  trifle  too  high  above  her  an- 
kles. Had  it  been  a  sunny  and  cheerful  day,  they  could 
hardly  have  gone  through  the  streets  without  making 
themselves  obnoxious  to  remark.  Now,  probably,  they 
were  felt  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  dismal  and  bitter 
weather,  and  therefore  did  not  stand  out  in  strong  relief, 
as  if  the  sun  were  shining  on  them,  but  melted  into  the 
gray  gloom  and  were  forgotten  as  soon  as  gone. 

Poor  Hepzibah !  Could  she  have  understood  this  fact, 
it  would  have  brought  her  some  little  comfort ;  for,  to 
all  her  other  troubles,  —  strange  to  say  !  —  there  waa 
added  the  womanish  and  old-maiden-like  misery  arising 
from  a  sense  of  unseemliness  in  her  attire.  Thus,  she 
was  fain  to  shrink  deeper  into  herself,  as  it  were,  as  if  in 
the  hope  of  making  people  suppose  that  here  was  only  a 
cloak  and  hood,  threadbare  and  wofully  faded,  taking  aq 
airing  in  the  midst  of  the  storm,  without  any  wearer! 

As  they  went  on,  the  feeling  of  indistinctness  and  un- 
reality kept  dimly  hovering  round  about  her,  and  so  dif- 
fusing itself  into  her  system  that  one  of  her  hands  waa 
hardly  palpable  to  the  touch  of  the  other.     Any  certainty 


290   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

would  have  been  preferable  to  this.  She  whispered  tb 
herself,  again  and  again,  "  Am  I  awake  ?  —  Am  I 
awake  ? "  and  sometimes  exposed  her  face  to  the  chill 
spatter  of  the  wind,  for  the  sake  of  its  rude  assurance 
that  she  was.  Whether  it  was  CHfFord's  purpose,  or  only 
chance,  had  led  them  thither,  they  now  found  themselves 
passing  beneath  the  arched  entrance  of  a  large  structure 
of  gray  stone.  Within,  there  was  a  spacious  breadth,  and 
an  airy  height  from  floor  to  roof,  now  partially  filled 
with  smoke  and  steam,  which  eddied  voluminously  up- 
ward, and  formed  a  mimic  cloud-region  over  their  heads. 
A  train  of  cars  was  just  ready  for  a  start ;  the  locomo- 
tive was  fretting  and  fuming,  like  a  steed  impatient  for  a 
headlong  rush ;  and  the  bell  rang  out  its  hasty  peal,  so 
well  expressing  the  brief  summons  which  life  vouchsafes 
to  us,  in  its  hurried  career.  Without  question  or  delay, 
—  with  the  irresistible  decision,  if  not  rather  to  be  called 
recklessness,  which  had  so  strangely  taken  possession  of 
him,  and  through  him  of  Hepzibah,  —  Clifford  impelled 
her  towards  the  cars,  and  assisted  her  to  enter.  The 
signal  was  given  ;  the  engine  puffed  forth  its  short,  quick 
breaths ;  the  train  began  its  movement ;  and,  along  wdth 
a  hundred  other  passengers,  these  two  unwonted  travel- 
lers sped  onward  like  the  wind. 

At  last,  therefore,  and  after  so  long  estrangement  from 
everything  that  the  world  acted  or  enjoyed,  they  had 
been  drawn  into  the  great  current  of  human  life,  and 
were  swept  away  with  it,  as  by  the  suction  of  fate  it- 
self. 

Still  haunted  with  the  idea  that  not  one  of  the  past 
incidents,  inclusive  of  Judge  Pyncheon's  visit,  could  be 
real,  the  recluse  of  the  Seven  Gabks  murmured  in  hei 
brother's  ear,  — 

"  Chfford  !     Clifford  !     Is  not  this  a  dream  ?  " 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    TWO    0T7LS.  291 

*'A  dream,  Hepzibah  !  "  repeated  he,  almost  laughing 
in  her  face.  "  On  the  CDntrary,  I  have  never  been  awake 
before  ! " 

Meanwhile,  looking  from  the  window,  they  could  see 
the  world  racing  past  them.  At  one  moment,  they  were 
rattling  through  a  solitude;  the  next,  a  village  had 
grown  up  around  them  ;  a  few  breaths  more,  and  it  had 
vanished,  as  if  swallowed  by  an  earthquake.  The  spires 
of  meeting-houses  seemed  set  adrift  frcftn  their  founda- 
tions ;  the  broad-based  hills  ghded  away.  Everything 
was  unfixed  from  its  age-long  rest,  and  moving  at  whirl- 
wind speed  in  a  direction  opposite  to  their  own. 

Within  the  car,  there  was  the  usual  interior  life  of  the 
railroad,  offering  httle  to  the  observation  of  other  pas- 
sengers,  but  full  of  novelty  for  this  pair  of  strangely  en- 
franchised prisoners.  It  was  novelty  enough,  indeed, 
that  there  were  fifty  human  beings  in  close  relation  witK 
them,  under  one  long  and  narrow  roof,  and  drawn  onward 
by  the  same  nftghty  influence  that  had  taken  their  two 
selves  into  its  grasp.  It  seemed  marvellous  how  all 
these  people  could  remain  so  quietly  in  their  seats,  while 
so  much  noisy  strength  was  at  work  in  their  behalf. 
Some,  with  tickets  in.  their  hats  (long  travellers  these, 
before  whom  lay  a  hundred  miles  of  railroad),  had 
plunged  mto  the  English  scenery  and  adventures  of 
pamphlet  novels,  and  were  keeping  company  with  dukes 
and  earls.  Others,  whose  briefer  span  forbade  their  de- 
voting themselves  to  studies  so  abstruse,  beguiled  the 
little  tedium  of  the  way  with  penny-papers.  A  party  of 
girls,  and  one  young  man,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  car, 
found  huge  amusement  in  a  game  of  ball.  They  tossed 
it  to  and  fro,  with  peals  of  laughter  that  might  be  meas- 
nred  by  mile-lengths;  for,  faster  than  the  nimble  ball 
could  fly,  the  merry  players  fled  unconsciously  along. 


292   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

leaving  the  trail  of  tlieir  mirtli  afar  beliiud,  and  ending 
their  game  under  another  sky  than  had  witnessed  its 
commencement.  Boys,  with  apples,  cakes,  candy,  and 
roUs  of  variously  tinctured  lozenges,  —  merchandise  that 
reminded  Hepzibah  of  her  deserted  shop,  —  appeared  at 
each  momentary  stoppiag-place,  doing  up  their  business 
in  a  hurry,  or  breaking  it  short  off,  lest  the  market 
should  ravish  them  away  with  it.  New  people  contmu- 
ally  entered.  Old  acquaintances  —  for  such  they  soon 
grew  to  be,  in  this  rapid  current  of  affairs  —  continually 
departed.  Here  and  there,  amid  the  rumble  and  the  tu- 
mult, sat  one  asleep.  Sleep;  sport;  business;  graver 
or  lighter  study  ;  and  the  common  and  inevitable  move- 
ment onward !     It  was  life  itself ! 

Chfford's  naturally  poignant  sympathies  were  all 
aroused.  He  caught  the  color  of  what  was  passing  about 
him,  and  threw  it  back  more  vividly  than  he  received  it, 
but  mixed,  nevertheless,  with  a  lurid  and  portentous  hue. 
Hepzibah,  on  the  other  hand,  felt  hersfelf  more  apart 
from  human  kmd  than  even  in  the  seclusion  which  she 
had  just  quitted. 

"  You  are  not  happy,  Hepzibah  !  "  said  Clifford,  apart, 
in  a  tone  of  reproach.  "  You  are  thmking  of  that  dismal 
old  house,  and  of  Cousin  Jaffrey," — here  came  the 
quake  through  him,  —  "  and  of  Cousin  Jaffrey  sitting 
there,  all  by  himself !  Take  my  advice,  —  follow  my 
example,  —  and  let  such  things  slip  aside.  Here  we  are, 
in  the  world,  Hepzibah !  —  in  the  midst  of  life  !  —  in  the 
throng  of  our  fellow-beings  !  Let  you  and  I  be  happy  ! 
As  happy  as  that  youth,  and  those  pretty  girls,  at  their 
game  of  ball !  " 

"Happy!"  thought  Hepzibah,  bitterly  conscious,  at 
the  word,  of  her  dull  and  heavy  heart,  with  the  frozen 
pain  in  it,  —  "  happy  !     He  is  mad  already ;  and,  if  I 


THE  .FLIGHT   OF   TWO   OWLS.  293 

could  once  feel  myself  broad  awake,  I   should  go  mad 
too ! " 

If  a  fixed  idea  be  madness,  she  was  perhaps  not  remote 
from  it.     Fast  and  far  as  they  had  rattled  and  clattered 
along  the  iron  track,  they  might  just  as  well,  as  regarded 
Hepzibah's  mental  images,   have  been  passing  up  and 
down  Pyncheon  Street.     With  miles  and  miles  of  varied 
scenery  between,  there  was  no  scene  for  her,  save  the 
seven  old  gable-peaks,  with  their  moss,  and  the  tuft  of 
weeds  in  one  of  the  angles,  and  the  shop-window,  and  a 
customer  shaking  the  door,  and  compelling  the  little  bell 
to  jingle  fiercely,  but  without  disturbing  Judge  Pyncheon ! 
This  one  old  house  was  everywhere  !     It  transported  its 
great,  lumbering  bulk,  with  more  than  railroad  speed, 
and  set  itself  phlegmatically  down  on  whatever  spot  she 
glanced  at.     The  quality  of  Hepzibah's  mind  was  too  un- 
malleable  to  take  new  impressions  so  readily  as  Cliff'ord's. 
He  had  a  winged  nature  ;  she  was  rather  of  the  vegetable 
kind,  and  could  hardly  be  kept  long  alive,  if  drawn  up  by 
the  roots.     Thus  it  happened  that  the  relation  heretofore 
existing  between  her  brother  and  herself  was  changed.   At 
home,  she  was  his  guardian ;  here,  Chff'ord  had  become 
hers,  and  seemed  to  comprehend  whatever  belonged  to 
their  new  position  with  a  singular  rapidity  of  intelligence. 
He   had  been  startled  into  manhood  and  intellectual 
vigor ;  or,  at  least,  into  a  condition  that  resembled  them, 
though  it  might  be  both  diseased  and  transitory. 

The  conductor  now  applied  for  their  tickets  ;  and  Clif- 
ford,  who  had  made  himself  the  purse-bearer,  put  a  bank- 
note into  his  hand,  as  he  had  observed  others  do. 

"  For  the  lady  and  yourself  ?  "  asked  the  conductor. 
"And  how  far?" 

"  As  far  as  that  will  carry  us,"  said  Clifi'ord.  "  It  is 
no  great  matter.    We  are  riding  for  pleasure  merely ! " 


294   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  You  choose  a  strange  day  for  it,  sir !  "  remarked  a 
gimlet-eyed  old  gentleirian,  on  the  other  side  of  the  car, 
looking  at  Clifford  and  his  companion,  as  if  curious  to 
make  them  out.  "The  best  chance  of  pleasure,  in  an 
easterly  rain,  I  take  it,  is  in  a  man's  own  house,  with  s: 
nice  little  fire  in  the  chimney." 

"I  cannot  precisely  agree  with  you,"  said  Clifford, 
courteously  bowing  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  at  once 
taking  up  the  clew  of  conversation  which  the  latter  had 
proffered.  "  It  had  just  occurred  to  me,  on  the  contrary, 
that  this  admirable  invention  of  the  railroad  —  with  the 
vast  and  inevitable  improvements  to  be  looked  for,  both 
as  to  sjDced  and  convenience  —  is  destined  to  do  away 
with  those  stale  ideas  of  home  and  fireside,  and  substitute 
something  better." 

"  In  the  name  of  common-sense,"  asked  the  old  gentle- 
man, rather  testily,  "  what  can  be  better  for  a  man  than 
his  own  parlor  and  chimney-corner  ?  " 

"These  things  have  not  the  merit  which  many  good 
people  attribute  to  them,"  replied  Clifford.  "  They  may 
be  said,  in  few  and  pithy  words,  to  have  ill  served  a  poor 
purpose.  My  impression  is,  that  our  wonderfully  in- 
creased and  still  increasing  facilities  of  locomotion  are 
destined  to  bring  us  round  again  to  the  nomadic  state. 
You  arc  aware,  my  dear  sir,  —  you  must  have  observed 
it,  in  your  own  experience,  —  that  all  human  progress  is 
in  a  circle ;  or,  to  use  a  more  accurate  and  beautiful  figure, 
in  an  ascending  spiral  curve.  While  we  fancy  ourselves 
going  straight  forward,  and  attaining,  at  every  step,  an 
entirely  new  position  of  affairs,  we  do  actually  return  to 
something  long  ago  tried  and  abandoned,  but  which  we 
now  find  ethcrealized,  refined,  and  perfected  to  its  ideal. 
The  past  is  but  a  coarse  and  sensual  prophecy  of  the 
present  and  the  future.     To  apply  this  truth  to  the  topic 


THE    FLIGHT    OF    TWO    OWLS.  295 

now  under  discussion.  In  the  early  epochs  of  our  race, 
men  dwelt  iu  temporary  huts,  of  bowers  of  branches,  as 
easily  constructed  as  a  bird's  nest,  and  which  they  built, 

—  if  it  should  be  called  building,  when  such  sweet  homes 
of  a  summer  solstice  rather  grew  than  were  made  with 
hands, — which  Nature,  we  will  say,  assisted  them  to 
rear,  where  fruit  abounded,  where  fish  and  game  were 
plentiful,  or,  most  especially,  where  the  sense  of  beauty 
was  to  be  gratitled  by  a  loveUer  shade  than  elsewhere, 
and  a  more  exquisite  arrangement  of  late,  wood,  and  hill. 
This  life  possessed  a  charm,  which,  ever  since  man  quitted 
it,  has  vanished  from  existence.  And  it  typified  some- 
thing better  than  itself.  It  had  its  drawbacks;  such  as 
hunger  mid  thirst,  inclement  weather,  hot  sunshine,  and 
weary  and  foot-blistering  marches  over  barren  and  ugly 
tracts,  that  lay  between  the  sites  desirable  for  their  fer- 
tility and  beauty.  But,  'in  our  ascending  spiral,  we 
escape  all  this.  These  railroads  —  could  but  the  whistle 
be  made  musical,  and  the  rumble  and  the  jar  got  rid  of 

—  are  positively  the  greatest  blessing  that  the  ages  have 
wrought  out  for  us.  They  give  us  wings ;  they  annihi- 
late the  toil  and  dust  of  pilgrimage  ;  they  spiritualize 
travel !  Transition  being  so  facile,  what  can  be  any 
man's  inducement  to  tarry  in  one  spot  ?  Why,  there- 
fore, should  he  build  a  more  euiubrous  habitation  than 
can  readily  be  carried  ofi'  with  him?  Wiiy  should  he 
make  himself  a  prisoner  for  life  in  brick,  and  stone,  and 
old  worm-eaten  timber,  when  he  may  just  as  easily  dwell, 
in  one  sense,  nowhere,  —  in  a  better  sense,  wherever  the 
tit  and  beautiful  shall  offer  him  a  home  ?  " 

Clifford's  countenance  glowed,  as  he  divulged  this 
theory ;  a  youthful  character  shone  out  from  within,  con- 
verting the  wrinkles  and  pallid  duskiness  of  age  hito  an 
almost  tniusparent  mask.     Tlie  merry  girls  let  their  ball 


296   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

drop  upon  the  floor,  and  gazed  at  him.  They  said  to 
themselves,  perhaps,  that,  before  his  hair  was  gray  and 
the  crow's-feet  tracked  bis  temples,  this  now  decaying 
man  must  have  stamped  the  impress  of  his  features  on 
many  a  woman's  heart.  But,  alas  !  no  woman's  eye  had 
seen  his  face  while  it  was  beautifid. 

"  I  should  scarcely  call  it  an  improved  state  of  things," 
ohsen-ed  Clifford's  new  acquaintance,  "  to  hve  everywhere 
and  nowhere  ! " 

"  Would  you  not  ?  "  exclaimed  Chfford,  with  singular 
energy.  "  It  is  as  clear  to  me  as  sunshine,  —  were  there 
any  in  the  sky,  —  that  the  greatest  possible  stumbling- 
blocks  in  the  path  of  human  happiness  and  improvement 
are  these  heaps  of  bricks  and  stones,  consolidated  with 
mortar,  or  hewn  timber,  fastened  together  with  spike- 
nails,  which  men  painfully  contrive  for  their  own  tor- 
ment, and  call  them  house  and  home !  The  soul  needs 
air ;  a  wide  sweep  and  frequent  change  of  it  Morbid 
influences,  in  a  thousand-fold  variety,  gather  about 
hearths,  and  pollute  the  hfe  of  households.  There  is  no 
such  unwholesome  atmosphere  as  that  of  an  old  home, 
rendered  poisonous  by  one's  defunct  forefathers  and  rela- 
tives. I  speak  of  what  I  know.  There  is  a  certain  house 
within  my  famUiar  recollection,  —  one  of  those  peaked- 
gable  (there  are  seven  of  them),  projecting-storied  edi- 
fices, such  as  you  occasionally  see,  in  our  older  towns, — 
a  rusty,  crazy,  creaky,  dry-rotted,  damp-rotted,  dingy, 
dark,  and  miserable  old  dungeon,  with  an  arched  window 
over  the  porch,  and  a  httle  shop-door  on  one  side,  and  a 
great,  melancholy  elm  before  it !  Now,  sir,  whenever 
my  thoughts  recur  to  this  seven-gabled  mansion  (the 
fact  is  so  very  curious  that  I  must  needs  mention  it), 
immediately  I  have  a  vision  or  image  of  an  elderly  man, 
cf  remarkably  stern  countenance,  sitting  in  an  oaken 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   TWO    OWLS.  2Q  ( 

elbow-chair,  dead,  stone-dead,  with  an  ugly  flow  of  blood 
upon  his  shirt-bosom  !  Dead,  but  with  open  eyes  !  He 
taints  the  whole  house,  as  I  remember  it.  I  could  never 
flourish  there,  nor  be  happy,  nor  do  nor  enjoy  what  God 
meant  me  to  do  and  enjoy  !  " 

His  face  darkened,  and  seemed  to  contract,  and  shrivel 
itself  up,  and  wither  into  age. 

"  Never,  sir  !  "  he  repeated.  "  I  could  never  draw- 
cheerful  breath  there  ! " 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  eying 
CHfford  earnestly,  and  rather  apprehensively.  "  I  should 
conceive  not,  sir,  with  that  notion  in  your  head  !  " 

"Surely  not,"  continued  Clifford;  "and  it  were  a 
relief  to  me  if  that  house  could  be  torn  down,  or  burnt 
up,  and  so  the  earth  be  rid  of  it,  and  grass  be  sown 
abundantly  over  its  foundation.  Not  that  I  should 
ever  visit  its  site  again !  for,  sir,  the  farther  I  get  away 
from  it,  the  more  does  the  joy,  the  lightsome  freshness, 
the  heart-leap,  the  intellectual  dance,  the  youth,  in  short, 
—  yes,  my  youth,  my  youth !  —  the  more  does  it  come 
back  to  me.  No  longer  ago  than  this  morning,  I  was 
old.  I  remember  looking  in  the  glass,  and  wondering 
at  my  own  gray  hair,  and  the  wrinkles,  many  and  deep, 
right  across  my  brow,  and  the  furrows  down  my  cheeks, 
and  the  prodigious  trampling  of  crow's-feet  about  my  tem- 
ples !  It  was  too  soon  !  I  could  not  bear  it !  Age  had 
no  right  to  come  !  I  had  not  lived !  But  now  do  I  look 
old  ?  If  so,  my  aspect  belies  me  strangely ;  for  —  a  great 
weight  being  off  my  mind  —  I  feel  in  the  very  heyday  of 
my  youth,  with  the  world  and  my  best  days  before  me ! " 

"  I  trust  you  may  find  it  so,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
who  seemed  rather  embarrassed,  and  desirous  of  avoiding 
the  observation  which  Clifford's  wild  talk  drew  on  them 
both.     "  You  have  my  best  wishes  for  it." 


298   THE  HOUSE  OP  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"  Por  Heaven's  sake,  dear  Clifford,  be  quiet ! "  whisk 
pared  Ms  sister.     "  They  think  you  mad." 

"  Be  quiet  yourself,  Hepzibah !  "  returned  her  brother. 
"  No  matter  what  they  think  !  I  am  not  mad.  For  the 
first  time  in  thirty  years,  my  thoughts  gush  up  and  find 
words  ready  for  them.     I  must  talk,  and  I  will !  " 

He  turned  again  towards  the  old  gentleman,  and  re- 
newed the  conversation. 

*' Yes,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "it  is  my  firm  belief  and 
hope,  that  these  terms  of  roof  and  hearth-stone,  which 
have  so  long  been  held  to  embody  something  sacred,  are 
soon  to  pass  out  of  men's  daily  use,  and  be  forgotten. 
Just  imagine,  for  a  moment,  how  much  of  human  evil 
will  crumble  away,  with  this  one  change!  What  we 
call  real  estate  —  the  solid  ground  to  build  a  house  on 
—  is  the  broad  foundation  on  which  nearly  all  the  guilt 
of  this  world  rests.  A  man  will  commit  almost  any 
wrong,  —  he  will  heap  up  an  immense  pile  of  wicked- 
ness, as  hard  as  granite,  and  which  will  weigh  as  heavily 
upon  his  soul,  to  eternal  ages,  —  only  to  build  a  great, 
gloomy,  dark-chambered  mansion,  for  himself  to  die  in, 
and  for  his  posterity  to  be  miserable  in.  He  lays  his 
own  dead  corpse  beneath  the  underpinning,  as  one  may 
say,  and  hangs  his  frowning  picture  on  the  wall,  and, 
after  thus  converting  himself  into  an  evil  destiny,  ex- 
pects his  remotest  great-grandchildren  to  be  happy  there ! 
I  do  not  speak  wildly.  I  have  just  such  a  house  in  my 
mind's  eye ! " 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  getting  anxious 
to  drop  the  subject,  "  you  are  not  to  blame  for  leaving 
it." 

"Within  the  lifetime  of  the  child  already  born,"  Clif. 
ford  went  on,  "  all  this  will  be  done  away.  The  world 
is  growing  too  ethereal  and  spiritual  to  bear  these  enor- 


THE    FLIGHT   OF   TWO    OWLS.  299 

mities  a  great  while  longer.  To  me,  —  though,  for  a 
considerable  period  of  time,  I  have  lived  chiefly  in  re- 
tirement, and  know  less  of  such  things  than  most  men, 
—  even  to  me,  the  harbingers  of  a  better  era  are  unmis- 
takable. Mesmerism,  now !  Will  that  effect  nothing, 
think  you,  towards  purging  away  the  grossness  out  of 
human  life  ? '' 

"All  a  humbug !  "  growled  the  old  gentleman. 

"These  rapping  spirits,  that  little  Phoebe  told  us  of, 
the  other  day,"  said  Clifford,  —  "  what  are  these  but  the 
messengers  of  the  spiritual  world,  knocking  at  the  door 
of  substance  ?     And  it  shall  be  flung  wide  open !  " 

"A  humbug,  again!  "  cried  the  old  gentleman,  grow- 
ing  more  and  more  testy,  at  these  glimpses  of  Clifford's 
metaphysics.  "I  should  like  to  rap  with  a  good  stick 
on  the  empty  pates  of  the  dolts  who  circulate  such  non- 
sense ! " 

"  Then  there  is  electricity ;  —  the  demon,  the  angel, 
the  mighty  physical  power,  the  all-pervading  intelli- 
gence !  "  exclaimed  Clifford.  "  Is  that  a  humbug,  too  ? 
Is  it  a  fact  —  or  have  I  dreamt  it  —  that,  by  means  of 
electricity,  the  world  of  matter  has  become  a  great  nerve, 
vibrating  thousands  of  miles  in  a  breathless  point  of 
time  ?  Rather,  the  round  globe  is  a  vast  head,  a  brain, 
instinct  with  intelligence !  Or,  shall  we  say,  it  is  itself 
a  thought,  nothing  but  thought,  and  no  longer  the  sub- 
stance which  we  deemed  it !  " 

"  If  you  mean  the  telegraph,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
glancing  his  eye  toward  its  wire,  alongside  the  rail-track, 
"  it  is  an  excellent  thing ;  —  that  is,  of  course,  if  the 
speculators  in  cotton  and  politics  don't  get  possession 
of  it.  A  great  thing,  indeed,  sir;  particularly  as  re- 
gards the  detection  of  bank-robbers  and  murderers." 

*'  I  don't  quite  like  it,  in  that  point  of  view,"  replied 


300   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Clifford.  "A  bauk-robber,  and  what  you  call  a  mur- 
derer, likewise,  has  his  rights,  which  men  of  enlightened 
humanity  and  conscience  should  regard  in  so  much  the 
more  liberal  spirit,  because  the  bulk  of  society  is  prone 
to  controvert  their  existence.  An  almost  spiritual  me- 
dium, like  the  electric  telegraph,  should  be  consecrated 
to  high,  deep,  joyful,  and  holy  missions.  Lovers,  day 
by  day,  —  hour  by  hour,  if  so  often  moved  to  do  it,  — 
might  send  their  heart-throbs  from  Maine  to  Florida, 
with  some  such  words  as  these,  'I  love  you  for- 
ever ! '  —  *  My  heart  runs  over  with  love  ! '  —  'I  love 
you  more  than  I  can ! '  and,  again,  at  the  next  mes- 
sage, '  I  have  lived  an  hour  longer,  and  love  you  twice 
as  much ! '  Or,  when  a  good  man  has  departed,  his 
distant  friend  should  be  conscious  of  an  electric  thrill, 
as  from  the  world  of  happy  spirits,  telhng  him,  '  Your 
dear  friend  is  in  bhss  !  '  Or,  to  an  absent  husband, 
should  come  tidings  thus,  'An  immortal  being,  of 
whom  you  are  the  father,  has  this  moment  come  from 
God ! '  and  immediately  its  Httle  voice  would  seem 
to  have  reached  so  far,  and  to  be  echoing  in  his  heart. 
But  for  these  poor  rogues,  the  bank-robbers,  —  who 
after  all,  are  about  as  honest  as  nine  people  in  ten, 
except  that  they  disregard  certain  formahties,  and  pre- 
fer to  transact  business  at  midnight,  rather  ^.an  'Change- 
hours,  —  and  for  these  murderers,  as  you  phrase  it,  who 
are  often  excusable  in  the  motives  of  their  deed,  and 
deserve  to  be  ranked  among  public  benefactors,  if  we 
consider  only  its  result,  —  for  unfortunate  individuals 
like  these,  I  really  cannot  applaud  the  enlistment  of 
an  immaterial  and  miraculous  power  in  the  universal 
world-hunt  at  their  heels  !  " 

"You  can't,  hey?"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
hard  look. 


THE    FLIGHT    OF   TWO    OWLS.  301 

"  Positively,  no  !  "  answered  Clifford.  "  It  puts  them 
too  miserably  at  disadvantage.  Eor  example,  sir,  in  a 
dark,  low,  cross-beamed,  panelled  room  of  an  old  house, 
let  us  suppose  a  dead  man,  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  with 
a  blood-stain  on  his  shirt-bosom,  —  and  let  us  add  to 
our  hypothesis  another  man,  issuing  from  the  house, 
which  he  feels  to  be  over-filled  with  the  dead  man's  pres- 
ence, —  and  let  us  lastly  imagine  him  fleeing.  Heaven 
knows  whither,  at  the  speed  of  a  hurricane,  by  railroad ! 
Now,  sir,  if  the  fugitive  alight  in  some  distant  town, 
and  find  all  the  people  babbling  about  that  self-same 
dead  man,  whom  he  has  fled  so  far  to  avoid  the  sight 
and  thought  of,  will  you  not  allow  that  his  natural  rights 
have  been  infringed  ?  He  has  been  deprived  of  his  city 
of  refuge,  and,  in  my  humble  opinion,  has  suffered  in- 
finite wrong !  " 

"  You  are  a  strange  man,  sir  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman, 
bringing  his  gimlet-eye  to  a  point  on  Clifford,  as  if  deter- 
mined to  bore  right  into  him.  "I  can't  see  through 
you ! " 

"  No,  I  'U  be  bound  you  can't !  "  cried  Clifford,  laugh- 
ing. "  And  yet,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  as  transparent  as  the 
water  of  Maule's  well !  But  come,  Hepzibah  !  We  have 
flown  far  enough  for  once.  Let  us  alight,  as  the  birds 
do,  and  perch  ourselves  on  the  nearest  twig,  and  consult 
whither  we  shall  fly  next !  " 

Just  then,  as  it  happened,  the  train  reached  a  solitary 
way-station.  Taking  advantage  of  the  brief  pause,  Clif- 
ford left  the  car,  and  drew  Hepzibah  along  with  him.  A 
moment  afterwards,  the  train — with  all  the  life  of  its 
interior,  amid  which  Clifford  had  made  himself  so  con- 
spicuous an  object  —  was  gliding  away  in  the  distance, 
and  rapidly  lessening  to  a  point,  which,  in  another  mo- 
ment, vanished.     The  world  had  fled  away  from  these 


802   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

two  wanderers.  Tliej  gazed  drearily  about  them.  At  a 
little  distance  stood  a  wooden  church,  black  with  age, 
and  in  a  dismal  state  of  ruin  and  decay,  with  broken 
windows,  a  great  rift  through  the  main  body  of  the  edi- 
fice, and  a  rafter  dangling  from  the  top  of  the  square 
tower.  Farther  off  was  a  farm-house,  in  the  old  style, 
as  venerably  black  as  the  church,  with  a  roof  sloping 
downward  from  the  three-story  peak,  to  within  a  man's 
height  of  the  ground.  It  seemed  uninhabited.  There 
were  the  relics  of  a  wood-pile,  indeed,  near  the  door,  but 
with  grass  sprouting  up  among  the  chips  and  scattered 
logs.  The  small  rain-drops  came  down  aslant ;  the  wind 
was  not  turbulent,  but  sullen,  and  full  of  chilly  moisture. 

Clifford  shivered  from  head  to  foot.  The  wild  effer- 
vescence of  his  mood  —  which  had  so  readily  supplied 
thoughts,  fantasies,  and  a  strange  aptitude  of  words,  and 
impelled  him  to  talk  from  the  mere  necessity  of  giving 
vent  to  this  bubbling-up  gush  of  ideas  —  had  entirely 
subsided.  A  powerful  excitement  had  given  him  energy 
and  vivacity.  Its  operation  over,  he  forthwith  began  to 
sink. 

"  You  must  take  the  lead  now,  Hepzibah  !  "  murmured 
he,  with  a  torpid  and  reluctant  utterance.  "  Do  with  me 
as  you  will !  " 

She  knelt  down  upon  the  platform  where  they  were 
standing,  and  lifted  her  clasped  hands  to  the  sky.  The 
dull,  gray  weight  of  clouds  made  it  invisible  ;  but  it  was 
no  hour  for  disbelief ;  - —  no  juncture  this,  to  question 
that  there  was  a  sky  above,  and  an  Almighty  Father 
looking  down  from  it ! 

"O  God  !  " — ejaculated  poor,  gaunt  Hepzibah,  —  then 
paused  a  moment,  to  consider  what  her  prayer  should  be, 
—  "  O  God,  —  our  Father,  —  are  we  not  thy  children  P 
Have  mercy  on  us !  " 


XYin. 


GOVEENOR  PYNCHEON. 


UDGE  PYNCHEON,  while  his  two  relatives 
have  fled  away  with  such  ill-considered  haste, 
still  sits  in  the  old  parlor,  keeping  house,  as 
the  familiar  phrase  is,  in  the  absence  of  its  ordinary  oc- 
cupants. To  him,  and  to  the  venerable  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables,  does  our  story  now  betake  itself,  like  an 
owl,  bewildered  in  the  daylight,  and  hastening  back  to 
his  hollow  tree. 

The  Judge  has  not  shifted  his  position  for  a  long  while 
now.  He  has  not  stirred  hand  or  foot,  nor  withdrawn 
his  eyes  so  much  as  a  hair's-breadth  from  their  fixed  gaze 
towards  the  corner  of  the  room,  since  the  footsteps  of 
Hepzibah  and  Clifford  creaked  along  the  passage,  and  the 
outer  door  was  closed  cautiously  behind  their  exit.  He 
holds  his  watch  in  his  left  hand,  but  clutched  m  such 
a  manner  that  you  cannot  see  the  dial-plate.  How  pro- 
found a  fit  of  meditation!  Or,  supposing  him  asleep, 
how  infantile  a  quietude  of  conscience,  and  what  whole- 
some order  in  the  gastric  region,  are  betokened  by  slum- 
ber so  entirely  undisturbed  with  starts,  cramp,  twitches, 
muttered  dream-talk,  trumpet-blasts  through  the  nasal 
organ,  or  ar^  the  sUghtest  irregularity  of  breath !     You 


804   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

must  hold  your  own  breath,  to  satisfy  yourself  \vhethei 
he  breathes  at  all.  It  is  quite  iuaudible.  You  hear  the 
ticking  of  his  watch ;  his  breath  you  do  not  hear.  A 
most  refreshing  slumber,  doubtless  !  And  yet,  the  Judge 
cannot  be  asleep.  His  eyes  are  open  !  A  veteran  poh- 
tician,  such  as  he,  would  never  fall  asleep  with  wide-open 
eyes,  lest  some  enemy  or  mischief-maker,  taking  him  thus 
at  unawares,  should  peep  through  these  windows  into 
his  consciousness,  and  make  strange  discoveries  among 
the  reminiscences,  projects,  hopes,  apprehensions,  weak- 
nesses, and  strong  points,  which  he  has  heretofore  shared 
with  nobody.  A  cautious  man  is  proverbially  said  to 
sleep  with  one  eye  open.  That  may  be  wisdom.  But  not 
with  both  ;  for  this  were  heedlessness  !  No,  no  !  Judge 
Pyncheon  cannot  be  asleep. 

It  is  odd,  however,  that  a  gentleman  so  burdened  with 
engagements,  — and  noted,  too,  for  punctuality,  —  should 
luiger  thus  in  an  old  lonely  mansion,  which  he  has  never 
seemed  very  fond  of  visiting.  The  oaken  chair,  to  be 
sure,  may  tempt  him  with  its  roominess.  It  is,  indeed, 
a  spacious,  and,  allowing  for  the  rude  age  that  fashioned 
it,  a  moderately  easy  seat,  with  capacity  enough,  at  all 
events,  and  offering  no  restraint  to  the  Judge's  breadth 
of  beam.  A  bigger  man  might  find  ample  accommodation 
in  it.  His  ancestor,  now  pictured  upon  the  wall,  with 
aU  his  Enghsh  beef  about  him,  used  hardly  to  present 
a  front  extendmg  from  elbow  to  elbow  of  this  chair,  or 
a  base  that  would  cover  its  whole  cushion.  But  there 
are  better  chairs  than  this,  —  mahogany,  black-walnut, 
rosewood,  spring-seated  and  damask-cushioned,  with  va- 
ried slopes,  and  innumerable  artifices  to  make  them  easy, 
and  obviate  the  irksomeness  of  too  tame  an  ease ;  —  a 
score  of  such  might  be  at  Judge  Pyncheon's  service. 
Yes!  in  a  score  of  drawing-rooms   he  would  be  more 


GOVERNOR   PYNCHEON.  805 

than  welcome.  Marama  would  advance  to  meet  him, 
with  outstretched  hand ;  the  virgin  daughter,  elderly  as 
he  has  now  got  to  be,  —  an  old  widower,  as  he  smilingly 
describes  himself,  —  would  shake  up  the  cushion  for  the 
Judge,  and  do  her  pretty  little  utmost  to  malce  him 
comfortable.  For  the  Judge  is  a  prosperous  man.  He 
clierishes  his  schemes,  moreover,  like  other  people,  and 
reasonably  brighter  than  most  others ;  or  did  so,  at  least, 
as  he  lay  abed,  this  morning,  in  an  agreeable  half-drowse, 
planning  the  business  of  the  day,  and  speculating  on  the 
probabilities  of  the  next  fifteen  years.  With  his  firm 
health,  and  the  little  inroad  that  age  has  made  upon  him, 
fifteen  years  or  twenty  —  yes,  or  perhaps  five-and-twenty ! 
—  are  no  more  than  he  may  fairly  call  his  own.  Five-and- 
twenty  years  for  the  enjoyment  of  his  real  estate  in  town 
and  country,  his  railroad,  bank,  and  insurance  shares,  his 
United  States  stock,  —  his  wealth,  in  short,  however 
invested,  now  in  possession,  or  soon  to  be  acquired; 
together  with  the  public  honors  that  have  fallen  upon 
him,  and  the  weightier  ones  that  are  yet  to  fall !  It  is 
good  !     It  is  excellent !     It  is  enough  ! 

Still  lingering  in  the  old  chair !  If  the  Judge  has  a 
little  time  to  throw  away,  why  does  not  he  visit  the 
insurance  ofiice,  as  is  his  frequent  custom,  and  sit 
awhile  in  one  of  their  leathern-cushioned  arm-chairs, 
listening  to  the  gossip  of  the  day,  and  dropping  some 
deeply  designed  chance-word,  which  will  be  certain  to 
become  the  gossip  of  to-morrow!  And  have  not  the 
bank  directors  a  meeting  at  which  it  was  the  Judge's 
purpose  to  be  present,  and  his  oflBce  to  preside  ?  Indeed 
they  have ;  and  the  hour  is  noted  on  a  card,  which  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  in  Judge  Pyncheon's  right  vest-pocket. 
Let  him  go  thither,  and  loll  at  ease  upon  his  money-bags ! 
He  has  lounged  long  enough  in  the  old  chair ! 


806   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEX  GABLES. 

THs  VTRS  to  have  been  sucli  a  busy  day  I  In  the  iBfsi 
place,  the  mtervieTv  \nth  CliiFord.  Half  an  hour,  by  the 
Judge's  reckoning,  was  to  suffice  for  that ;  it  would  prob- 
ably be  less,  but  —  taking  into  consideration  that  Hep- 
zibah  was  first  to  be  dealt  with,  and  that  these  women 
are  apt  to  make  many  words  where  a  few  would  do  much 
better  —  it  might  be  safest  to  allow  half  an  hour.  Half 
an  hour  ?  TThy,  Judge,  it  is  already  two  hours,  by  your 
own  undeviatingly  accurate  chronometer !  Glance  your 
eye  down  at  it  and  see  !  Ah !  he  will  not  give  himself 
the  trouble  either  to  bend  his  head,  or  elevate  his  hand, 
so  as  to  bring  the  faithful  time-keeper  within  his  range 
of  vision  !  Time,  all  at  once,  appears  to  have  become  a 
matter  of  no  moment  with  the  Judge  I 

And  has  he  forgotten  all  the  other  items  of  his  memo- 
randa ?  Clifford's  affair  arranged,  he  was  to  meet  a 
State  Street  broker,  who  has  undertaken  to  procure  a 
heavy  percentage,  and  the  best  of  paper,  for  a  few  loose 
thousands  which  the  Judge  happens  to  have  by  him, 
uninvested.  The  wrinkled  note-shaver  will  have  taken 
his  railroad  trip  in  vain.  HaK  an  hour  later,  in  the 
street  next  to  this,  there  was  to  be  an  auction  of  real 
estate,  including  a  portion  of  the  old  Pyncheon  property, 
originally  belongmg  to  Maule's  garden-ground.  It  has 
been  alienated  from  the  Pyncheons  these  fourscore  years ; 
but  the  Judge  had  kept  it  in  his  eye,  and  had  set  his 
heart  on  reannexing  it  to  the  small  demesne  still  left; 
around  the  Seven  Gables  ;  —  and  now,  during  this  odd 
fit  of  oblivion,  the  fatal  hammer  must  have  fallen,  and 
transferred  our  ancient  patrimony  to  some  alien  possessor ! 
Possibly,  indeed,  the  sale  may  have  been  postponed  till 
fairer  weather.  If  so,  will  the  Judge  make  it  convenient 
to  be  present,  and  favor  the  auctioneer  with  his  bid,  on 
the  proximate  occasion? 


GOVERNOE   PYNCHEON.  807 

The  next  affair  was  to  buy  a  horse  for  his  own  driving. 
The  one  heretofore  his  favorite  stumbled,  tliis  very  morn- 
ing, on  the  road  to  town,  and  must  be  at  once  discarded. 
Judge  Pyiicheon's  neck  is  too  precious  to  be  risked  on 
such  a  contingency  as  a  stumbUug  steed.  Should  all  the 
above  business  be  seasonably  got  through  with,  he  might 
attend  the  meeting  of  a  charitable  society ;  the  very 
name  of  which,  however,  in  the  multiplicity  of  his  benev- 
olence, is  quite  forgotten ;  so  that  this  engagement  may 
pass  unfulfilled,  and  no  great  harm  done.  And  if  he 
have  time,  amid  the  press  of  more  urgent  matters,  he 
must  take  measures  for  the  renewal  of  Mrs,  Pyncheon's 
tombstone,  which,  the  sexton  teUs  him,  lias  fallen  on  its 
marble  face,  and  is  cracked  quite  in  twain.  She  was  a 
praiseworthy  woman  enough,  thinks  the  Judge,  in  spite 
of  her  nervousness,  and  the  tears  that  she  was  so  oozy 
with,  and  her  foohsh  behavior  about  the  coffee  ;  and  as  she 
took  her  departure  so  seasonably,  he  will  not  grudge  the 
second  tombstone.  It  is  better,  at  least,  than  if  she  had 
never  needed  any!  The  next  item  on  his  hst  was  to 
give  orders  for  some  fruit-trees,  of  a  ra^e  variety,  to  be 
dehverable  at  his  country-seat,  in  the  ensuing  autumn. 
Yes,  buy  them,  by  all  means ;  and  may  the  peaches  be 
luscious  iu  your  mouth.  Judge  Pyncheon!  After  this 
comes  something  more  important.  A  committee  of  his 
pohtical  party  has  besought  him  for  a  hundred  or  two  of 
dollars,  in  addition  to  his  previous  disbursements,  towards 
carrying  on  the  fall  campaign.  The  Judge  is  a  patriot ; 
the  fate  of  the  country  is  staked  on  the  November  elec- 
tion ;  and  besides,  as  will  be  shadowed  forth  in  another 
paragraph,  he  has  no  trifling  stake  of  his  own,  in  the 
same  great  game.  He  will  do  what  the  committee  asks; 
nay,  he  will  be  liberal  beyond  their  expectations ;  they 
shall  have  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars,  and  more 


308   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

anon,  if  it  be  needed.  What  next  ?  A  decayed  widow, 
whose  husband  was  Judge  Pyncheon's  early  friend,  has 
laid  her  case  of  destitution  before  him,  in  a  very  moving 
letter.  She  and  her  fair  daughter  have  scarcely  bread  to 
eat.  He  partly  intends  to  call  on  her,  to-day,  —  perhaps 
so  —  perhaps  not,  —  accordingly  as  he  may  happen  to 
have  leisure,  and  a  small  bank-note. 

Another  business,  'which,  however,  he  puts  no  great 
weight  on  (it  is  well,  you  know,  to  be  heedful,  but  not 
over-anxious,  as  respects  one's  personal  health), — another 
business,  then,  was  to  consult  his  family  physician.  About 
what,  for  Heaven's  sake  ?  Why,  it  is  rather  difficult  to 
describe  the  symptoms.  A  mere  dimness  of  sight  and 
dizziness  of  brain,  was  it  ?  —  or  a  disagreeable  choking, 
or  stifling,  or  gurgling,  or  bubbling,  in  the  region  of 
the  thorax,  as  the  anatomists  say  ?  —  or  was  it  a  pretty 
severe  throbbmg  and  kicking  of  the  heart,  rather  cred- 
itable to  him  than  otherwise,  as  showing  that  the  organ 
had  not  been  left  out  of  the  Judge's  physical  contrivance? 
No  matter  what  it  was.  The  doctor,  probably,  would 
smile  at  the  statement  of  such  trifles  to  his  professional 
ear;  the  Judge  would  smile,  in  his  turn;  and  meeting 
one  another's  eyes,  they  would  enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  to- 
gether !  But  a  fig  for  medical  advice !  The  Judge  will 
never  need  it. 

Pray,  pray.  Judge  Pyncheon,  look  at  your  watch,  now ! 
What  —  not  a  glance  !  It  is  within  ten  minutes  of  the 
dmner-hour !  It  surely  cannot  have  shpped  your  memory 
that  the  dinner  of  to-day  is  to  be  the  most  important,  in 
its  consequences,  of  all  the  dimiers  you  ever  ate.  Yes, 
precisely  the  most  important ;  although,  in  the  course  of 
your  somewhat  eminent  career,  you  have  been  placed 
high  towards  the  head  of  the  table,  at  splendid  banquets, 
and  have  poured  out  your  festive  eloquence  to  ears  yet 


GOVERNOR   PYNCHEON.  309 

echoing  with  Webster's  mighty  organ-tones.  No  public 
dinner  this,  however.  It  is  merely  a  gathering  of  some 
dozen  or  so  of  friends  from  several  districts  of  the  State ; 
men  of  distinguished  character  and  influence,  assembhng, 
almost  casually,  at  the  house  of  a  common  friend,  likewise 
distinguished,  who  will  make  them  welcome  to  a  little 
better  than  his  ordinary  fare.  Nothing  in  the  way  of 
French  cookery,  but  an  excellent  dinner,  nevertheless. 
Real  turtle,  we  understand,  and  salmon,  tautog,  canvas- 
backs,  pig,  English  mutton,  good  roast-beef,  or  dainties 
of  that  serious  kind,  fit  for  substantial  country  gentlemen, 
as  these  honorable  persons  mostly  are.  The  delicacies  of 
the  season,  in  short,  and  flavored  by  a  brand  of  old  Ma- 
deira which  has  been  the  pride  of  many  seasons.  It  is 
the  Juno  brand;  a  glorious  wine,  fragrant,  and  full  of 
gentle  might ;  a  bottled-up  happiness,  put  by  for  use ;  a 
golden  liquid,  worth  more  than  liquid  gold ;  so  rare  and 
admirable,  that  veteran  wine-bibbers  count  it  among  their 
epochs  to  have  tasted  it !  It  drives  away  the  heart-ache, 
and  substitutes  no  head-ache !  Could  the  Judge  but 
quaff  a  glass,  it  might  enable  him  to  shake  off  the  unac- 
countable lethargy  which  (for  the  ten  intervening  min- 
utes, and  five  to  boot,  are  already  past)  has  made  him 
such  a  laggard  at  this  momentous  dinner.  It  would  all 
but  revive  a  dead  man !  Would  you  like  to  sip  it  now, 
Judge  Pyncheon  ? 

Alas,  this  dinner !  Have  you  really  forgotten  its  true 
object  ?  Then  let  us  whisper  it,  that  you  may  start  at 
once  out  of  the  oaken  chair,  which  really  seems  to  be 
enchanted,  like  the  one  in  Comus,  or  that  in  which  MoU 
Pitcher  imprisoned  your  own  grandfather.  But  ambition 
is  a  tahsman  more  powerful  than  witchcraft.  Start  up, 
then,  and,  hurrying  through  the  streets,  burst  in  upon 
the  company,  that  they  may  begin  before  the  fish  is 


810   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

spoiled !  They  wait  for  you ;  and  it  is  little  for  your 
interest  that  tliey  should  wait.  These  gentlemen  —  need 
you  be  told  it  ?  —  have  assembled,  not  without  purpose, 
from  every  quarter  of  the  State.  They  are  practised  poli- 
ticians, every  man  of  them,  and  skilled  to  adjust  those 
preliminary  measures  which  steal  from  the  people,  with- 
out its  knowledge,  the  power  of  choosing  its  own  rulers. 
The  popular  voice,  at  the  next  gubernatorial  election, 
though  loud  as  thunder,  will  be  really  but  an  echo  of 
what  these  gentlemen  shall  speak,  under  their  breath,  at 
your  friend's  festive  board.  They  meet  to  decide  upon 
their  candidate.  This  little  knot  of  subtle  schemers  will 
control  the  convention,  and,  through  it,  dictate  to  the 
party.  And  what  worthier  candidate, — more  wise  and 
learned,  more  noted  for  philanthropic  liberality,  truer  to 
safe  principles,  tried  oftener  by  public  trusts,  more  spot- 
less in  private  character,  with  a  larger  stake  in  the  com- 
mon  welfare,  and  deeper  grounded,  by  hereditary  descent, 
in  the  faith  and  practice  of  the  Puritans,  —  what  man 
can  be  presented  for  the  suffrage  of  the  people,  so  emi- 
nently combining  all  these  claims  to  the  chief-rulership 
as  Judge  Pyncheon  here  before  us? 

Make  haste,  then !  Do  your  part !  The  meed  for 
which  you  have  toiled,  and  fought,  and  clnnbed,  and 
crept,  is  ready  for  your  grasp !  Be  present  at  this  din- 
ner !  —  drink  a  glass  or  two  of  that  noble  wine  !  —  make 
your  pledges  in  as  low  a  whisper  as  you  will !  —  and  you 
rise  up  from  table  virtually  governor  of  the  glorious  old 
State  !     Governor  Pyncheon,  of  Massachusetts  ! 

And  is  there  no  potent  and  exhilarating  cordial  in  a 
certainty  like  this  ?  It  has  been  the  grand  purpose  of 
half  your  lifetime  to  obtain  it.  Now,  when  there  needs 
little  more  than  to  signify  your  acceptance,  why  do  you 
sit  so  lumpishly  in  your  great-great-grandfather's  oaken 


GOVEENOE   PYNCHEON.  311 

chair,  as  if  preferring  it  to  the  gubernatorial  one  ?  We 
have  ail  heard  of  King  Log ;  but,  in  these  josthng  times, 
one  of  tliat  rojal  kindred  will  hardly  win  the  race  for  an 
elective  chief-magistracy. 

Well !  it  is  absolutely  too  late  for  dinner !  Turtle, 
salmon,  tautog,  woodcock,  boiled  turkey,  South-Down 
mutton,  pig,  roast-beef,  have  vanished,  or  exist  only  in 
fragments,  with  lukewarm  potatoes,  and  gravies  crusted 
over  with  cold  fat.  The  Judge,  had  he  done  nothing 
else,  would  have  achieved  wonders  with  his  knife  and 
fork.  It  was  he,  you  know,  of  whom  it  used  to  be  said, 
in  reference  to  his  ogre-like  appetite,  that  his  Creator 
made  him  a  great  animal,  but  that  the  dinner-hour  made- 
him  a  great  beast.  Persons  of  his  large  sensual  endow- 
ments must  claim  indulgence,  at  their  feeding-time.  But, 
for  once,  the  Judge  is  entirely  too  late  for  dinner !  Too 
late,  we  fear,  even  to  join  the  party  at  their  wine  !  The 
guests  are  warm  and  merry ;  they  have  given  up  the 
Judge ;  and,  concluding  that  the  Free-Soilers  have  him, 
they  will  fix  upon  another  candidate.  Were  our  friend 
now  to  stalk  in  among  them,  with  that  wide-open  stare, 
at  once  wild  and  stoLd,  his  ungenial  presence  would  be 
apt  to  change  their  cheer.  Neither  would  it  be  seemlj 
in  Judge  Pyncheon,  generally  so  scrupulous  in  his  attire, 
to  show  himself  at  a  dinner-table  with  that  crimson  stain 
upon  his  shirt -bosom.  By  the  by,  how  came  it  there  ? 
It  is  an  ugly  sight,  at  any  rate; ;  and  the  wisest  way  for 
the  Judg3  IS  to  button  his  coat  closely  over  his  breast, 
and,  taking  his  horse  and  chaise  from  the  livery -stable,  to 
make  all  speed  to  his  own  house.  There,  after  a  glass 
of  brandy  and  water,  and  a  mutton-chop,  a  beefsteak,  a 
broiled  fowl,  or  some  such  hasty  little  dinner  and  supper 
all  in  one,  he  had  better  spend  the  evening  by  the  fire- 
side.    He  must  toast  his  shppers  a  long  while,  in  order 


312   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

to  get  rid  of  the  cliillmess  whicli  the  air  of  this  vile  old 
house  has  sent  curdling  through  liis  veins. 

Up,  therefore,  Ju.dge  Pyncheon,  up  !  You  have  lost  a 
day.  But  to-morrow  will  be  here  anon.  Will  you  rise, 
betimes,  and  make  the  most  of  it  ?  To-morrow !  To- 
morrow !  To-morrow !  We,  that  are  alive,  may  rise  be- 
times to-morrow.  As  for  him  that  has  died  to-day,  his 
morrow  will  be  the  resurrection  morn. 

Meanwhile  the  twilight  is  glooming  upward  out  of  the 
corners  of  the  room.  The  shadows  of  the  tall  furniture 
grow  desper,  and  at  first  become  more  definite;  then, 
spreading  wider,  they  lose  their  distinctness  of  outline 
in  the  dark  gray  tide  of  oblivion,  as  it  were,  that  creeps 
slowly  over  the  various  objects,  and  the  one  human  figure 
sitting  in  the  midst  of  them.  The  gloom  has  not  en- 
tered from  without ;  it  has  brooded  here  all  day,  and  now, 
taking  its  own  inevitable  time,  will  possess  itself  of  every- 
thing. The  Judge's  face,  indeed,  rigid,  and  singularly 
white,  refuses  to  melt  into  this  universal  solvent.  Painter 
and  fainter  grows  the  light.  It  is  as  if  another  double- 
handful  of  darkness  had  been  scattered  through  the  air. 
Now  it  is  no  longer  gray,  but  sable.  There  is  still  a  faint 
appearance  at  the  window ;  neither  a  glow,  nor  a  gleam, 
nor  a  glimmer,  —  any  phrase  of  light  would  express  some- 
thing far  brighter  than  this  doubtful  perception,  or  sense, 
rather,  that  there  is  a  window  there.  Has  it  yet  van- 
ished ?  No  !  —  yes  !  —  not  quite  !  And  there  is  still  the 
swarthy  whiteness,  —  we  shall  venture  to  marry  these  ill- 
agreeing  words,  —  the  swarthy  whiteness  of  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon's  face.  The  features  are  all  gone;  there  is  only 
the  paleness  of  them  left.  And  how  looks  it  now  ?  There 
is  no  windoo^ !  There  is  no  face  !  An  infinite,  inscru- 
table blackness  has  amiihilated  sight !  Where  is  our 
universe  ?    All  crumbled  away  from  us  ;  and  we,  adrift 


GOVERNOR   PYNCHEON.  313 

in  chaos,  may  hearken  to  the  gusts  of  homeless  wind, 
that  go  sighmg  and  murmuring  about,  in  quest  of  what 
was  once  a  world  ! 

Is  there  no  other  sound  ?  One  other,  and  a  fearfid  one. 
It  is  the  ticking  of  the  Judge's  watch,  which,  ever  since 
Hepzibah  left  the  room  in  search  of  Clifford,  he  has  been 
holding  in  his  hand.  Be  the  cause  w^hat  it  may,  this  ht- 
tle,  quiet,  never-ceasing  throb  of  Time's  pulse,  repeating 
its  small  strokes  with  such  busy  regularity,  in  Judge 
Pyncheon's  motionless  hand,  has  an  effect  of  terror, 
which  we  do  not  find  in  any  other  accompaniment  of 
the  scene. 

But,  listen  !  That  puff  of  the  breeze  was  louder ;  it 
had  a  tone  unlike  the  dreary  and  sullen  one  which  has 
bemoaned  itself,  and  afflicted  all  mankind  with  miserable 
sympathy,  for  five  days  past.  The  wind  has  veered 
about !  It  now  comes  boisterously  from  the  northwest, 
and,  taking  hold  of  the  aged  framework  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  gives  it  a  shake,  like  a  wrestler  that  would  try 
strength  with  his  antagonist.  Another  and  another  stur- 
dy tussle  with  the  blast !  The  old  house  creaks  again, 
and  makes  a  vociferous  but  somewhat  unintelligible  bel- 
lowing in  its  sooty  throat  (the  big  flue,  we  mean,  of 
its  wide  chimney),  partly  in  complamt  at  the  rude 
wind,  but  rather,  as  befits  their  century  and  a  half  of 
hostile  intimacy,  in  tough  defiance.  A  rumbling  kind 
of  a  bluster  roars  behind  the  fire-board.  A  door  has 
slammed  above  stairs.  A  window,  perhaps,  has  been  left 
open,  or  else  is  driven  m  by  an  unruly  gust.  It  is 
not  to  be  conceived,  beforehand,  what  wonderful  wind- 
instruments  are  these  old  timber  mansions,  and  ho^r 
haunted  with  the  strangest  noises,  which  immediately 
begin  to  sing,  and  sigh,  and  sob,  and  shriek,  —  and  to 
smite  with  sledge-hammers,  airy  but  ponderous,  in  some 


314   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

distant  chamber,  —  and  to  tread  along  the  entries  as 
with  stately  footsteps,  and  rustle  up  and  down  the  stair- 
case, as  with  silks  miraculously  stiff, —  whenever  the  gale 
catches  the  house  with  a  window  open,  and  gets  fairly 
into  it.  Would  that  we  were  not  an  attendant  spirit 
here  !  It  is  too  awful !  This  clamor  of  the  wind  through 
the  lonely  house  ;  the  Judge's  quietude,  as  he  sits  invisi- 
ble ;  and  that  pertinacious  ticking  of  liis  watch ! 

As  regards  Judge  Pyncheon's  invisibility,  however, 
that  matter  will  soon  be  remedied.  The  northwest  wind 
has  swept  the  sky  clear.  The  window  is  distinctly  seen. 
Through  its  panes,  moreover,  we  dimly  catch  the  sweep 
of  the  dark,  clustering  foliage,  outside,  flutteriug  with  a 
constant  irregularity  of  movement,  and  letting  in  a  peep 
of  starlight,  now  here,  now  there.  Oftener  than  any 
other  object,  these  glimpses  illuminate  the  Judge's  face. 
But  here  comes  more  effectual  light.  Observe  that  sil- 
very dance  upon  the  upper  branches  of  the  pear-tree,  and 
now  a  httle  lower,  and  now  on  the  whole  mass  of  boughs, 
while,  through  their  shifting  mtricacies,  the  moonbeams 
fall  aslant  into  the  room.  They  play  over  the  Judge's 
figure  and  show  that  he  has  not  stirred  throughout  the 
hours  of  darkness.  They  follow  the  shadows,  in  change- 
ful sport,  across  his  unchanging  features.  They  gleam 
upon  his  watch.  His  grasp  conceals  the  dial-plate  ;  but 
we  know  that  the  faithful  hands  have  met ;  for  one  of  the 
city  clocks  tells  midnight. 

A  man  of  sturdy  understanding,  like  Judge  Pyncheon, 
cares  no  more  for  twelve  o'clock  at  night  than  for  tlie 
corresponding  hour  of  noon.  However  just  the  parallel 
drawn,  in  some  of  the  preceding  pages,  between  his  Pu- 
ritan ancestor  and  himself,  it  fails  in  this  point.  The 
Pvncheon  of  two  centuries  ago,  in  common  with  most  of 
his  contemporaries,  professed  his  full  belief  in  spiritual 


GOVEENOR   PYNCHEON.  315 

ministrations,  although  reckoning  them  chiefly  of  a  ma- 
lignant character.  The  Pyncheon  of  to-night,  who  sits 
in  yonder  arm-chair,  believes  in  no  such  nonsense.  Such, 
at  least,  was  his  creed,  some  few  hours  since.  His  hair 
will  not  bristle,  therefore,  at  the  stories  which  —  in  times 
when  chimney-corners  had  benches  in  them,  where  old 
people  sat  poking  into  the  ashes  of  the  past,  and  raking 
out  traditions  like  Hve  coals  —  used  to  be  told  about  this 
very  room  of  his  ancestral  house.  In  fact,  these  tales  are 
too  absurd  to  bristle  even  childhood's  hair.  What  sense, 
meaning,  or  moral,  for  example,  such  as  even  ghost-sto- 
ries should  be  susceptible  of,  can  be  traced  m  the  ridicu- 
lous legend,  that,  at  midnight,  all  the  dead  Pyncheons 
are  bound  to  assemble  in  this  parlor  ?  And,  pray,  for 
what?  Why,  to  see  whether  the  portrait  of  their  ances- 
tor  still  keeps  its  place  upon  the  wall,  in  compliance  with 
his  testamentary  directions  !  Is  it  worth  while  to  come 
out  of  their  graves  for  that  ? 

We  are  tempted  to  make  a  little  sport  with  the  idea. 
Ghost-stories  are  hardly  to  be  treated  seriously,  any  longer. 
The  family-party  of  the  defunct  Pyncheons,  we  presume, 
goes  off  in  this  wise. 

Pirst  comes  the  ancestor  himself,  in  his  black  cloak, 
steeple-hat,  and  trunk-breeches,  girt  about  the  waist  with 
a  leathern  belt,  in  which  hangs  his  steel-hilted  sword; 
he  has  a  long  staff  in  his  hand,  such  as  gentlemen  in  ad- 
vanced life  used  to  carry,  as  much  for  the  dignity  of  the 
thing  as  for  the  support  to  be  derived  from  it.  He  looks 
up  at  the  portrait ;  a  thing  of  no  substance,  gazing  at  its 
own  painted  image  !  All  is  safe.  The  picture  is  still 
there.  The  purpose  of  his  brain  has  been  kept  sacred 
thus  long  after  the  man  himself  has  sprouted  up  in  grave- 
yard grass.  See  !  he  lifts  his  ineffectual  hand,  and  tries 
the  frame.    All  safe  !    But  is  that  a  smile  ?  —  is  it  not, 


316   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

rather,  a  frowii  of  deadly  import,  that  darkens  over  the 
shadow  of  his  features  ?  The  stout  Colonel  is  dissatis- 
fied !  So  decided  is  his  look  of  discontent  as  to  impart 
additional  distinctness  to  his  features ;  through  which, 
nevertheless,  the  moonUght  passes,  and  flickers  on  the 
wall  beyond.  Something  has  strangely  vexed  the  ances- 
tor !  With  a  grim  shake  of  the  head,  he  turns  away. 
Here  come  other  Pyncheons,  the  whole  tribe,  in  theii 
half  a  dozen  generations,  jostling  and  elbowing  one  an- 
other, to  reach  the  picture.  We  behold  aged  men 
and  grandames,  a  clergyman  with  the  Puritanic  stiffness 
still  in  his  garb  and  mien,  and  a  red-coated  officer  of  the 
old  French  war ;  and  there  comes  the  shop-keeping  Pyn- 
cheon  of  a  century  ago,  with  the  ruffles  turned  back 
from  his  wrists ;  and  there  the  periwigged  and  brocaded 
gentleman  of  the  artist's  legend,  with  the  beautiful  and 
pensive  Ahce,  who  brings  no  pride  out  of  her  virgin 
grave.  All  try  the  picture-frame.  What  do  these 
ghostly  people  seek  ?  A  mother  hfts  her  child,  that  his 
Uttle  hands  may  touch  it !  There  is  evidently  a  mys- 
tery about  the  picture,  that  perplexes  these  poor  Pyn- 
cheons when  they  ought  to  be  at  rest.  In  a  corner, 
meanwhile,  stands  the  figure  of  an  elderly  man,  in 
a  leather  jerkin  and  breeches,  with  a  carpenter's  rule 
sticking  out  of  his  side  pocket ;  he  points  his  iuiger  at 
the  bearded  Colonel  and  his  descendants,  nodding,  jeer- 
ing, mocking,  and  finally  bursting  into  obstreperous, 
though  inaudible  laughter. 

Indulging  our  fancy  in  this  fi'cak,  we  have  partly  lost 
the  power  of  restramt  and  guidance.  We  distinguish  an 
unlooked-for  figure  in  our  visionary  scene.  Among  those 
ancestral  people  there  is  a  young  man,  dressed  in  the  very 
fashion  of  to-day  ;  he  wears  a  dark  frock-coat,  almost  des- 
titute of  skirts,  gray  pantaloons,  gaiter  boots  of  pateni 


QOVEENOR   PYNCHEON.  317 

leather,  and  has  a  finely  wrouglit  gold  chain  across  his 
breast,  and  a  little  silver-headed  whalebone  stick  in  his 
hand.  Were  we  to  meet  this  figure  at  noonday,  we  should 
greet  him  as  young  Jaff'rey  Pyncheon,  the  Judge's  only 
surviving  child,  who  has  been  spending  the  last  two  years 
in  foreign  travel.  If  still  in  life,  how  comes  his  shadow 
hither  ?  If  dead,  what  a  misfortune  !  The  old  Pyncheon 
property,  together  with  the  great  estate  acquired  by  the 
young  man's  father,  would  devolve  on  whom  ?  On  poor, 
foolish  Clifford,  gaunt  Hepzibah,  and  rustic  little  Phoebe  I 
But  another  and  a  greater  marvel  greets  us  !  Can  we 
believe  our  eyes  ?  A  stout,  elderly  gentleman  has  made 
his  appearance  ;  he  has  an  aspect  of  eminent  respectabil- 
ity, wears  a  black  coat  and  pantaloons,  of  roomy  width,, 
and  might  be  pronounced  scrupulously  neat  in  his  attire,, 
but  for  a  broad  crimson  stain  across  his  snowy  neckcloth 
and  down  his  shirt -bosom.  Is  it  the  Judge,  or  no? 
How  can  it  be  Judge  Pyncheon  ?  We  discern  his  figure, 
as  plainly  as  the  flickering  moonbeams  can  show  us  any- 
thing, still  seated  in  the  oaken  chair  !  Be  the  apparition 
whose  it  may,  it  advances  to  the  picture,  seems  to  seize 
the  frame,  tries  to  peep  behind  it,  and  turns  away,  with 
a  frown  as  black  as  the  ancestral  one. 

The  fantastic  scene  just  hinted  at  must  by  no  means 
be  considered  as  forming  an  actual  portion  of  our  story. 
We  were  betrayed  into  this  brief  extravagance  by  the 
quiver  of  the  moonbeams  ;  they  dance  hand-in-hand  with 
shadows,  and  are  reflected  in  the  looking-glass,  which, 
you  are  aware,  is  always  a  kind  of  window  or  doorway 
into  the  spiritual  world.  We  needed  relief,  moreover, 
from  our  too  long  and  exclusive  contemplation  of  that 
figure  in  the  chair.  This  wild  wind,  too,  has  tossed  our 
thoughts  into  strange  confusion,  but  without  tearing  them 
away  from  their  one  determined  centre.     Yonder  leaden 


318   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Judge  sits  immovably  upon  our  soul.  Will  he  never  stir 
again?  We  shall  go  mad  unless  he  stirs  !  Youmajthe 
better  estimate  his  quietude  by  the  fearlessness  of  a  little 
mouse,  which  sits  on  its  hind  legs,  m  a  streak  of  moon- 
light, close  by  Judge  Pyncheon's  foot,  and  seems  to  medi- 
tate a  journey  of  exploration  over  this  great  black  bulk. 
Ha !  what  has  startled  the  nimble  Httle  mouse  ^  It  is 
the  visage  of  grimalkin,  outside  of  the  window,  where 
he  appears  to  have  posted  himself  for  a  deliberate  watch. 
This  grimalkm  has  a  very  ugly  look.  Is  it  a  cat  watch- 
ing for  a  mouse,  or  the  devil  for  a  human  soul  ?  Would 
we  could  scare  him  from  the  window ! 

Thank  Heaven,  the  night  is  wellnigh  past !  The  moon- 
beams have  no  longer  so  silvery  a  gleam,  nor  contrast 
so  strongly  with  the  blackness  of  the  shadows  among 
"which  they  fall.  They  are  paler,  now  ;  the  shadows  look 
gray,  not  black.  The  boisterous  wind  is  hushed.  What 
is  the  hour  ?  Ah  !  the  watch  has  at  last  ceased  to  tick ; 
for  the  Judge's  forgetful  fingers  neglected  to  wind  it  up, 
as  usual,  at  ten  o'clock,  being  half  an  hour  or  so  before 
his  ordinary  bedtime  ;  —  and  it  has  run  down,  for  the 
first  time  in  five  years.  But  the  great  world-clock  of 
Time  still  keeps  its  beat.  The  dreary  night  —  for,  O, 
how  dreary  seems  its  haunted  waste,  behind  us  !  —  gives 
place  to  a  fresh,  transparent,  cloudless  morn.  Blessed, 
blessed  radiance  !  The  day-beam  —  even  what  little  of 
it  finds  its  way  into  this  always  dnsky  parlor  —  seems 
part  of  the  universal  benediction,  annulling  evil,  and  ren- 
dering all  goodness  possible,  and  happiness  attainable. 
Will  Judge  Pyncheon  now  rise  up  from  his  chair  ?  Will 
he  go  forth,  and  receive  the  early  sunbeams  on  his  brow? 
Will  he  begin  this  new  day,  —  which  God  has  smiled 
upon,  and  blessed,  and  given  to  mankind,  — will  he  begin 
it  with  better  purposes  than  the  many  that  have  been 


GOVERNOR   PYNCHEON.  319 

spent  amiss  ?  Or  are  all  the  deep-laid  schemes  of  yester- 
day as  stubborn  in  his  heart,  and  as  busy  in  his  brain,  as 
ever? 

In  this  latter  case,  there  is  much  to  do.  Will  the  Judge 
still  insist  with  Hepzibah  on  the  interview  with  Clifford  ? 
Will  he  buy  a  safe,  elderly  gentleman's  horse  ?  Will  he 
persuade  the  purchaser  of  the  old  Pyncheon  property  to 
relinquish  the  bargain,  in  his  favor  ?  Will  he  see  his 
family  physician,  and  obtain  a  medicine  that  shall  pre-- 
serve  him,  to  be  an  honor  and  blessing  to  his  race,  until 
the  utmost  term  of  patriarchal  longevity  ?  Will  Judge 
Pyncheon,  above  all,  make  due  apologies  to  that  company 
of  honorable  friends,  and  satisfy  them  that  his  absence 
from  the  festive  board  was  unavoidable,  and  so  fully  re- 
trieve himself  in  their  good  opinion  that  he  shall  yet  be 
Governor  of  Massachusetts  ?  And,  all  these  great  pur- 
poses accomplished,  will  he  walk  the  streets  again,  with 
that  dog-day  smile  of  elaborate  benevolence,  sultry 
enough  to  tempt  flies  to  come  and  buzz  in  it  ?  Or  wiU 
he,  after  the  tomb-like  seclusion  of  the  past  day  and  night, 
go  forth  a  humbled  and  repentant  man,  sorrowful,  gentle, 
seeking  no  profit,  shrinking  from  worldly  honor,  hardly 
daring  to  love  God,  but  bold  to  love  his  fellow-man,  and 
to  do  him  what  good  he  may  ?  Will  he  bear  about  with 
him,  —  no  odious  grin  of  feigned  benignity,  insolent  ia 
its  pretence,  and  loathsome  in  its  falsehood,  —  but  the 
tender  sadness  of  a  contrite  heart,  broken,  at  last,  be- 
neath its  own  weight  of  sin  ?  For  it  is  our  belief,  what- 
ever show  of  honor  he  may  have  piled  upon  it,  that  there 
was  heavy  sin  at  the  base  of  this  man's  being. 

Rise  up.  Judge  Pyncheon !  The  morning  sunshine 
glimmers  through  the  foHage,  and,  beautiful  and  holy  as 
it  is,  shuns  not  to  kindle  up  your  face.  Rise  up,  thou 
subtle,  worldly,  selfish,  iron-hearted  hypocrite,  and  make 


•520       THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    SEVEN    GABLES. 

thy  choice  whether  still  to  be  subtle,  worldly,  selfish, 
iron-hearted,  and  hypocritical,  or  to  tear  these  sins  out 
of  thy  nature,  though  they  bring  the  hfe-blood  wdth 
them  !  The  Avenger  is  upon  thee  !  Rise  up,  before  it 
be  too  late ! 

What !  Thou  art  not  stiiTcd  by  tliis  last  appeal  ?  No, 
not  a  jot !  And  there  we  see  a  fly,  —  one  of  your  com- 
mon house-flies,  such  as  are  always  buzzing  on  the  win- 
dow-pane,—  which  has  smelt  out  Governor  Pyncheon, 
and  ahghts,  now  on  his  forehead,  now  on  his  chin,  and 
now.  Heaven  help  us  !  is  creeping  over  the  bridge  of  his 
nose,  towards  the  would-be  chief-magistrate's  wide-open 
eyes  !  Canst  thou  not  brash  the  fly  away  ?  Art  thou 
too  sluggish  ?  Thou  man,  that  hadst  so  many  busy 
projects,  yesterday!  Art  thou  too  weak,  that  wast  so 
powerful  ?  Not  brash  away  a  fly  ?  Nay,  then,  we  give 
thee  up ! 

And,  hark  !  the  shop-bell  rings.  After  hours  like  these 
latter  ones,  through  which  we  have  borne  our  heavy  tale, 
it  is  good  to  be  made  sensible  that  there  is  a  living  world, 
and  that  even  this  old,  lonely  mansion  retains  some  man- 
ner of  connection  with  it.  We  breathe  more  freely, 
emerging  from  Judge  Pyncheon's  presence  into  the  street 
before  the  Seven  Gables. 


XIX. 


ALICE'S  POSIES. 


NCLE  YENNER,  trundling  a  wheelbarrow, 
was  the  earliest  person  stirring  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, the  day  after  the  storm. 
Pjncheon  Street,  in  front  of  the  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  was  a  far  pleasanter  scene  than  a  by-lane,  con- 
fined by  shabby  fences,  and  bordered  with  wooden  dwell- 
ings of  the  meaner  class,  could  reasonably  be  expected  to 
present.  Nature  made  sweet  amends,  that  morning,  for 
the  five  unkindly  days  which  had  preceded  it.  It  would 
have  been  enough  to  live  for,  merely  to  look  up  at  the 
wide  benediction  of  the  sky,  or  as  much  of  it  as  was  vis- 
ible between  the  houses,  genial  once  more  with  sunshine. 
Every  object  was  agreeable,  whether  to  be  gazed  at  in  the 
breadth,  or  examined  more  minutely.  Such,  for  example, 
were  the  well-washed  pebbles  and  gravel  of  the  sidewalk  ; 
even  the  sky-reflecting  pools  in  the  centre  of  the  street ; 
and  the  grass,  now  freshly  verdant,  that  crept  along  the 
base  of  the  fences,  on  the  other  side  of  which,  if  one 
peeped  over,  was  seen  the  multifarious  growth  of  gardens. 
Vegetable  productions,  of  whatever  kind,  seemed  more 
than  negatively  happy,  in  the  juicy  warmth  and  abundance 
of  their  life.     The  Pyncheon  EJm,  throughout  its  great 


822   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

circumference,  was  all  alive,  and  full  of  the  morning  sun 
and  a  sweet-tempered  little  breeze,  which  lingered  within 
this  verdant  sphere,  and  set  a  thousand  leafy  tongues 
a-whispering  all  at  once.  This  aged  tree  appeared  to 
have  suffered  nothing  from  the  gale.  It  had  kept  its 
boughs  unshattered,  and  its  full  complement  of  leaves; 
and  the  whole  in  perfect  verdure,  except  a  single  branch, 
that,  by  the  earlier  change  with  which  the  elm-tree  some- 
times prophesies  the  autumn,  had  been  transmuted  to 
bright  gold.  It  was  like  the  golden  branch,  that  gained 
jEneas  and  the  Sibyl  admittance  into  Hades. 

This  one  mystic  branch  hung  down  before  the  main  en- 
trance of  the  Seven  Gables,  so  nigh  the  ground  that  any 
passer-by  might  have  stood  on  tiptoe  and  plucked  it  off. 
Presented  at  the  door,  it  would  have  been  a  symbol  of  his 
right  to  enter,  and  be  made  acquainted  with  all  the  secrets 
of  the  house.  So  little  faith  is  due  to  external  appear- 
ance, that  there  was  really  an  inviting  aspect  over  the 
venerable  edifice,  conveying  an  idea  that  its  history  must 
be  a  decorous  and  happy  one,  and  such  as  would  be  de- 
lightful for  a  fireside  tale.  Its  windows  gleamed  cheer- 
fully in  the  slanting  sunlight.  The  lines  and  tufts  of 
green  moss,  here  and  there,  seemed  pledges  of  familiarity 
and  sisterhood  with  Nature  ;  as  if  this  human  dwelling- 
place,  being  of  such  old  date,  had  established  its  prescrip- 
tive title  among  primeval  oaks  and  whatever  other  objects, 
by  virtue  of  their  long  continuance,  have  acquired  a 
gracious  right  to  be.  A  person  of  imaginative  tempera- 
ment, while  passing  by  the  house,  would  turn,  once  and 
again,  and  peruse  it  well :  —  its  many  peaks,  consenting 
together  in  the  clustered  chimney ;  the  deep  projection 
over  its  basement-story ;  the  arched  window,  imparting  a 
look,  if  not  of  grandeur,  yet  of  antique  gentility,  to  the 
broken  portal  over  which  it  opened ;   the  luxuriance  of 


ALICE'S    POSIES.  323 

gigantic  burdocks,  near  the  tliresliold  :  —  lie  would  note 
all  these  characteristics,  and  be  conscious  of  something 
deeper  than  he  saw.  He  would  conceive  the  mansion  to 
have  been  the  residence  of  the  stubborn  old  Puritan,  In- 
tegrity, who,  dying  in  some  forgotten  generation,  had 
left  a  blessing  in  all  its  rooms  and  chambers,  the  efficacy 
of  which  was  to  be  seen  in  the  religion,  honesty,  moderate 
competence,  or  upright  poverty  and  sohd  happiness,  of 
his  descendants,  to  this  day. 

One  object,  above  all  others,  would  take  root  in  the 
imaginative  observer's  memory.  It  was  the  great  tuft 
of  flowers,  —  weeds,  you  would  have  called  them,  only 
a  week  ago,  —  the  tuft  of  crimson-spotted  flowers,  in  the 
angle  between  the  two  front  gables.  The  old  people 
used  to  give  them  the  name  of  Ahce's  Posies,  in  remem- 
brance of  fair  Alice  Pyncheon,  who  was  believed  to  have 
brought  their  seeds  from  Italy.  They  were  flaunting  in 
rich  beauty  and  full  bloom  to-day,  and  seemed,  as  it 
were,  a  mystic  expression  that  something  within  the 
'house  was  consummated. 

It  was  but  little  after  sunrise,  when  Uncle  Vernier 
made  his  appearance,  as  aforesaid,  impelling  a  wheel- 
barrow along  the  street.  He  was  going  his  matutinal 
rounds  to  collect  cabbage-leaves,  turnip-tops,  potato- 
skins,  and  the  miscellaneous  refuse  of  the  dinner-pot, 
which  the  thrifty  housewives  of  the  iieigliborhood  were 
accustomed  to  put  aside,  as  fit  only  to  feed  a  pig.  Un- 
cle Venner's  pig  was  fed  entirely,  and  kept  in  prime 
order,  on  these  eleemosynary  contributions;  insomuch 
that  the  patched  philosopher  used  to  promise  that,  before 
retiring  to  his  farm,  he  would  make  a  feast  of  the  portly 
grunter,  and  invite  all  his  neighbors  to  partake  of  the 
joints  and  spare-ribs  which  they  had  helped  to  fatten. 
Miss  Hepzibah  Pyncheou's  housekeeping  had  so  greatly 


8£4  rzz  SOUSE  of  ihe  seven-  gables. 

iiE^TiTed,  snee  CBE^jrd  hecame  a  madDex  of  xhc  finniiT, 
that  her  share  of  tiie  bsuaqiiet  vooM  hare  been  no  leaa 
Gcue;  a.Ti<^  Upcie  TeaiEter,  accord ipgly,  iras  a  gx>od  deal 
disa^DQinied  net  to  find  the  lar^  earth  en  pan,  full  ol 
fragmentszy  eaiables.  that  ordinarily  awaited  his  eommg 
xt  the  back  doorstep  of  tbe  Seven  Gafaks. 

"  I  nexer  knev  Miss  Hepzibah  so  forgetful  before,^ 
said  the  patriarch,  to  himsell  "  She  must  have  had  a 
dm-npr  Testerday,  —  no  question  of  that !  She  always 
has  cme,  nowadays.  So  where '*s  the  pot-liqitor  and 
potatQ-^dns,  I  ask?  Shall  I  knock,  and  see  if  she's 
stirriLis'  ypt  ?  No,  no,  —  "t  won't  do  !  If  little  Phoebe 
was  ab  :-5e,  I  should  not  mind  knocking ;  but 

Itflss  H  _iely  as  not,  would  scowl  down  at  me, 

oiLt  of  tijc  w^dow,  and  look  cross,  eroi  if  she  Mt  pleas- 
ainly.     Sd,  I  "H  corae  back  at  noon." 

With  tliese  reflections,  the  old  man  was  Cutting  ihe 
gate  of  the  lirtle  baek-yard.  Creaking  on  its  hinges, 
iaowerer,  tikp  erery  other  gate  and  door  aboot  the  prem- 
ises, the  soxmd  readied  the  ears  of  the  occupant  of  the* 
Dorthem  gable,  one  of  tbe  windows  c^  which  had  a  sade- 
Tiew  towards  the  gate. 

"  Good  morning,  Unck  Tenner ! "  said  tbe  daguerreo- 
typist-  kaning  out  of  the  window.  "  Do  yoa  hear  no- 
body snrrrng  r  ~ 

"'  N:t  a  soul,-*'  :  :.zi  of  paidufs.     "  ftut  tbat  's 

-G  -wzndsr.     Th  --J  an  kwr  past  snaiise,  yet. 

But  I  "m  really  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Holgrave !  There  *s 
a  strange,  lonesome  kok  about  this  ade  of  lie  hsouse ; 
so  that  my  heart  misgave  me,  somehow  or  other,  and  I 
Ml  as  if  there  was  nobody  alive  'm  it.  Tbe  frcait  of  the 
house  koks  a  good  deal  cheerier ;  and  Abee's  Poaes  are 
hioomimg  tiiere  beauni&illy ;  aiid  if  I  w»e  a  young  maa, 
Mr.  Ho%EaEve,  my  sweedaeart  aiaodid  have  ooe  of  Ikom 


AlACrS   PDSZES,  Si5 

floir35  in  her  boscn.  zzz^isrb.  I  r^ed  hit  nrck  -■'--"■'-->»• 
for  it!— Wdl,  a-i  i.i  ii:r  ui^- irrr  V—  air^-  lasi 

"  It  did.  indeed !  ~  ansvered  tise  ardsr.  g^-Tfn-p-     =  H 

I  --  .        ^       :  .w 

^.  — 

especi^/ziA^-s  Ze;. 
is  verv  QTner  nr^^."" 

_ " y=5' v;:?^  Ef-r -in -Tin  be  apt  to  OTET- 
tr  iH  nistt,  lirli  tiie  ■ 

r^  -     ;-  —in  be  odi  -:^. 

It,  if  t_  til  ks  coQsizts  imo  ' 

try  alci-^ _  .^_—  rir:L  go  izuo  tbe  sn.  _•  ^^ta- 

terdav." 

^  Ai  -iriiai  bour  '  "  :z  -  ~  " . 

•'O,  akm^intbefoT:  ■  WeB, 

▼ell!     I  musi  st>  217  -  -w^jeel. 


lOT 


Wrov.    Bui  I  'II  be 

pi?  likes  a  dinQex  ss  ^cu^  is  _  2\o 

time,  and  no  son  :f  -:r~£5,  er,:  -  -  -  ec»i»e 

TO  my  pi^.     G:  r  to  yoa  1    And.  3ifr.  Hol- 

errare^,  if  I  -w^ne  :i  ;    __  _^ii.  Hte  yoiL  I  'd  cer  aae  of 

Alice's  Posies,  and  keep  it  in  vai^  lill  Pbcebe  esmxa 

back/* 

'•  I  bare  beaid,^  said  tbe  dagrjerrecwyjasi,  ss  be  drev 
in  bis  bead,  ''tiaifc  tie  -rater  erf Manie's  irell  saEBs  tiose 
flc^rrs  best* 

Here  tbe  eoHTCKsstHa  eaaed,  and TJvfe  XmagtwcMdt 
(mbis^y.  IVir  ^a^  »  ksv  ioi^er,  bo^Mi^  eBstio^ni 
&e  Impose  of  tbe  Seren  Gabfes;  ior  vss  iber^  sziy  -vis- 
itOT,  except  a  e&rrier-boy,  -wbo,  ats  be  passed  ibe  frank 
doorstep,  ibrev  do-srn  zNne  of  Lis  ne-B^iapers ;  lor  i&y- 
lib&h,  of  kte,  bad  re£-£ir>  r^f  -  ::  iiL     After  a  -»^fe^ 


326   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

there  came  a  fat  woman,  making  prodigious  speed,  and 
stumbling  as  she  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  shop-door. 
Her  face  glowed  with  fire-heat,  and,  it  being  a  pretty 
warm  morning,  she  bubbled  and  hissed,  as  it  were,  as  if 
all  a-fry  with  chimney -warmth,  and  summer-warmth,  and 
the  warmth  of  her  own  corpulent  velocity.  She  tried  the 
shop-door;  —  it  was  fast.  She  tried  it  again,  with  so 
angry  a  jar  that  the  bell  tinkled  angrily  back  at  her. 

"  The  deuce  take  Old  Maid  Pyncheon !  "  muttered  the 
irascible  housewife.  "  Think  of  her  pretending  to  set  up 
a  cent-shop,  and  then  lying  abed  till  noon !  Tliese  are 
what  she  calls  gentlefolk's  airs,  I  suppose !  But  I  '11 
either  start  her  ladyship,  or  break  the  door  down !  " 

She  shook  it  accordingly,  and  the  bell,  having  a  spite- 
ful little  temper  of  its  own,  rang  obstreperously,  making 
its  remonstrances  heard,  —  not,  indeed,  by  the  ears  for 
which  they  were  intended,  —  but  by  a  good  lady  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street.  She  opened  her  window, 
and  addressed  the  impatient  applicant. 

"  You  '11  find  nobody  there,  Mrs.  Gubbms." 

"  But  I  must  and  will  find  somebody  here !  '*  cried 
Mrs.  Gubbins,  inflicting  another  outrage  on  the  bell. 
"I  want  a  half-pound  of  pork,  to  fry  some  first-rate 
flounders,  for  Mr.  Gubbins' s  breakfast ;  and,  lady  or  not, 
Old  Maid  Pyncheon  shall  get  up  and  serve  me  with  it !  '* 

"  But  do  hear  reason,  Mrs.  Gubbins  !  "  responded  the 
lady  opposite.  "She  and  her  brother,  too,  have  both 
gone  to  their  cousin,  Judge  Pyncheon's,  at  his  country- 
seat.  There  's  not  a  soul  in  the  house,  but  that  young 
daguerreotype-man,  that  sleeps  in  the  north  gable.  I 
saw  old  Hepzibah  and  Clifford  go  away  yesterday  ;  and 
a  queer  couple  of  ducks  they  were,  paddling  through  the 
mud-puddles  !     They  're  gone,  I  '11  assure  you." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  they  're  gone  to  the  Judge's  ?  " 


ALICE'S   POSIES.  S27 

asked  Mrs.  Gubbins.  "  He  's  a  rich  man ;  and  there  's 
been  a  quarrel  between  him  and  Hepzibah,  this  many  a 
day,  because  he  won't  give  her  a  living.  That's  the 
main  reason  of  her  setting  up  a  cent-shop." 

"I  know  that  well  enough,"  said  the  neighbor.  "But 
they  're  gone,  —  that 's  one  thing  certain.  And  who 
but  a  blood-relation,  that  couldn't  help  himself,  I  ask 
you,  would  take  in  that  awful-tempered  old  maid,  and 
that  dreadful  Clifford  ?     That 's  it,  you  may  be  sure." 

Mrs.  Gubbins  took  her  departure,  still  brimming  over 
with  hot  wrath  against  the  absent  Hepzibah.  Eor  an- 
other half-hour,  or,  perhaps,  considerably  more,  there 
was  almost  as  much  quiet  on  the  outside  of  the  house 
as  within.  The  elm,  however,  made  a  pleasant,  cheerful, 
sunny  sigh,  responsive  to  the  breeze  that  was  elsewhere 
imperceptible ;  a  swarm  of  insects  buzzed  merrily  under 
its  drooping  shadow,  and  became  specks  of  light,  when- 
ever they  darted  into  the  sunshine ;  a  locust  sang,  once 
or  twice,  in  some  inscrutable  seclusion  of  the  tree ;  and 
a  solitary  little  bird,  with  plumage  of  pale  gold,  came 
and  hovered  about  Alice's  Posies. 

At  last,  our  small  acquaintance,  Ned  Higgins,  trudged 
up  the  street,  on  his  way  to  school ;  and  happenmg,  for 
the  first  time  in  a  fortnight,  to  be  the  possessor  of  a 
cent,  he  could  by  no  means  get  past  the  shop-door  of 
the  Seven  Gables.  But  it  would  not  open.  Again  and 
again,  however,  and  half  a  dozen  other  agains,  with  the 
inexorable  pertinacity  of  a  child  intent  upon  some  object 
important  to  itself,  did  he  renew  his  efforts  for  admit- 
tance. He  had,  doubtless,  set  his  heart  upon  an  ele- 
phant ;  or,  possibly,  with  Hamlet,  he  meant  to  eat  a 
crocodile.  In  response  to  his  more  violent  attacks, 
the  bell  gave,  now  and  then,  a  moderate  tinkle,  but 
could  not  be  stirred  into  clamor  by  any  exertion  of  the 


328   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEX  GABLES. 

little  fello-ff-'s  cliildish  and  tiptoe  strength.  Holding  by 
the  door-handle,  he  peeped  through  a  crevice  of  the 
curtain,  and  saw  that  the  inner  door,  communicating 
with  the  passage  towards  the  parlor,  was  closed. 

"  Miss  Pvncheon !  "  screamed  the  child,  rapping  on 
the  window-pane,  "  I  want  an  elephant !  " 

There  being  no  answer  to  several  repetitions  of  the 
summons,  Ised  began  to  grow  impatient ;  and  bis  little 
pot  of  passion  quickly  boilmg  over,  he  picked  up  a  stone, 
with  a  naughty  purpose  to  fling  it  through  the  window ; 
at  the  same  time  blubbering  and  sputteriug  with  wrath. 
A  man  —  one  of  two  who  happened  to  be  passing  by  — 
caught  the  urchm's  arm. 

"  "What 's  the  trouble,  old  gentleman  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  want  old  Hepzibah,  or  Phcebe,  or  any  of  them ! " 
answered  Ned,  sobbing.  "They  won't  open  the  door; 
and  I  can't  get  my  elephant !  " 

"  Go  to  school,  you  Httle  scamp ! "  said  the  man. 
"  There  's  another  cent-shop  round  the  corner.  'T  is 
very  strange,  Dixey,"  added  he  to  his  companion, 
"what's  become  of  all  these  Pyncheons !  Smith,  the 
livery-stable  keeper,  tells  me  Judge  Pvncheon  put  his 
horse  up  yesterday,  to  stand  till  after  dinner,  and  has 
not  taken  him  away  yet.  And  one  of  the  Judge's  hired 
men  has  been  in,  this  morning,  to  make  inquiry  about 
him.  He's  a  kind  of  person,  they  say,  that  seldom 
breaks  his  habits,  or  stays  out  o'  nights." 

"  O,  he  '11  turn  up  safe  enough  !  "  said  Dixey.  "  And 
as  for  Old  Maid  Pyncheon,  take  my  word  for  it,  she 
has  run  in  debt,  and  gone  off  from  her  creditors.  I 
foretold,  you  remember,  the  first  morning  she  set  up 
shop,  that  her  devilish  scowl  wouid  frighten  away  cus- 
tomers.    They  could  n't  stand  it !  " 

"I  never  thought  she'd  make  it  go,"  remarked  his 


ALICE'S   POSIES.  329 

friend.  "  This  business  of  cent-shops  is  overdone  among 
the  womenfolks.  My  wife  tried  it,  and  lost  five  dollars 
on  her  outlay  !  " 

"  Poor  business  !  "  said  Dixey,  shaking  his  head. 
"Poor  business  !  " 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  there  were  various  other 
attempts  to  open  a  communication  Avith  the  supposed  in- 
habitants of  this  silent  and  impenetrable  mansion.  The 
man  of  root -beer  came,  in  his  neatly  painted  wagon,  with 
a  couple  of  dozen  full  bottles,  to  be  exchanged  for  empty 
ones ;  the  baker,  with  a  lot  of  crackers  which  Hepzibah 
had  ordered  for  her  retail  custom ;  the  butcher,  with  a 
nice  titbit  which  he  fancied  she  would  be  eager  to  secure 
for  CUfford.  Had  any  observer  of  these  proceedings  been 
aware  of  the  fearful  secret  hidden  within  the  house, 
it  would  have  affected  him  with  a  singular  shape  and 
modification  of  horror,  to  see  the  current  of  human  hfe 
making  this  small  eddy  hereabouts  ;  —  whirling  sticks, 
straws,  and  all  such  trifles,  round  and  round,  right  over 
the  black  depth  where  a  dead  corpse  lay  unseen ! 

The  butcher  was  so  much  in  earnest  with  his  sweet- 
bread of  lamb,  or  whatever  the  dainty  might  be,  that  he 
tried  every  accessible  door  of  the  Seven  Gables,  and  at 
length  came  round  again  to  the  shop,  where  he  ordinarily 
found  admittance. 

"  It 's  a  nice  article,  and  I  know  the  old  lady  would 
jump  at  it,"  said  he  to  himself.  "  She  can't  be  gone 
away !  In  fifteen  years  that  I  have  driven  my  cart 
through  Pyncheon  Street,  I  've  never  known  her  to  be 
away  from  home  ;  though  often  enough,  to  be  sure,  a 
man  might  knock  all  day  without  bringing  her  to  the 
door.  But  that  was  when  she  'd  only  herself  to  provide 
for." 

Peeping  through  the  same  crevice  of  the  curtain  where. 


830   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

only  a  little  while  before,  the  urchin  of  elephantine  appe- 
tite had  peeped,  the  butcher  beheld  the  inner  door,  not 
closed,  as  the  child  had  seen  it,  but  ajar,  and  almost  wide 
open.  However  it  might  have  happened,  it  was  the  fact. 
Through  the  passage-way  there  was  a  dark  vista  into  the 
lighter  but  still  obscure  interior  of  the  parlor.  It  ap- 
peared to  the  butcher  that  he  could  pretty  clearly  discern 
what  seemed  to  be  the  stalwart  legs,  clad  in  black  pan- 
taloons, of  a  man  sitting  in  a  large  oaken  chair,  the  back 
of  which  concealed  all  the  remainder  of  his  figure.  This 
contemptuous  tranquillity  on  the  part  of  an  occupant  of 
the  house,  in  response  to  the  butcher's  indefatigable 
efforts  to  attract  notice,  so  piqued  the  man  of  flesh  that 
he  determined  to  withdraw, 

"So,"  thought  he,  "there  sits  Old  Maid  Pyncheon's 
bloody  brother,  while  I  've  been  giving  myself  all  this 
trouble !  Why,  if  a  hog  had  n't  more  manners,  I  'd 
stick  him !  I  call  it  demeaning  a  man's  business  to 
trade  with  such  people ;  and  from  this  time  forth,  if 
they  want  a  sausage  or  an  ounce  of  liver,  they  shall  run 
after  the  cart  for  it  ! " 

He  tossed  the  titbit  angrily  into  his  cart,  and  drove 
off  in  a  pet. 

Not  a  great  while  afterwards,  there  was  a  sound  of 
music  turning  the  corner,  and  approaching  down  the 
street,  with  several  intervals  of  silence,  and  then  a  re- 
newed and  nearer  outbreak  of  brisk  melody.  A  mob 
of  children  was  seen  moving  onward,  or  stopping,  in 
unison  with  the  sound,  which  appeared  to  proceed  from 
the  centre  of  the  throng;  so  that  they  were  loosely 
bound  together  by  slender  strains  of  harmony,  and  drawn 
along  captive ;  with  ever  and  anon  an  accession  of  some 
Httle  fellow  in  an  apron  and  straw-hat,  capering  forth 
from  door  or  gateway.     Arriving  under  the  shadow  of 


ALICE'S   POSIES.  331 

the  Pjncheon  Elm,  it  proved  to  be  the  Italian  boj,  who, 
with  his  monkey  and  show  of  puppets,  had  once  before 
played  his  hurdy-gurdy  beneath  the  arched  window. 
The  pleasant  face  of  Phoebe  —  and  doubtless,  too,  the 
liberal  recompense  which  she  had  flung  him  —  still  dwelt 
in  his  remembrance.  His  expressive  features  kindled 
up,  as  he  recognized  the  spot  where  this  trifling  incident 
of  his  erratic  life  had  clianced.  He  entered  the  neglected 
yard  (now  wilder  than  ever,  with  its  growth  of  hog-weed 
and  burdock),  stationed  himself  on  the  doorstep  of  the 
main  entrance,  and  opening  his  show-box,  began  to  play. 
Each  mdividual  of  the  automatic  community  forthwith 
set  to  work,  according  to  his  or  her  proper  vocation: 
the  monkey,  taking  off  his  Highland  bonnet,  bowed  and 
scraped  to  the  by-standers  most  obsequiously,  with  ever 
an  observant  eye  to  pick  up  a  stray  cent ;  and  the  young 
foreigner  himself,  as  he  turned  the  crank  of  his  machine, 
glanced  upward  to  the  arched  window,  expectant  of  a 
presence  that  would  make  his  music  the  livelier  and 
sweeter.  The  throng  of  children  stood  near;  some  on 
the  sidewalk;  some  within  the  yard;  two  or  three  es- 
tabHshing  themselves  on  the  very  doorstep ;  and  one 
squatting  on  the  threshold.  Meanwhile,  the  locust  kept 
singing  in  the  great  old  Pyncheou  Elm. 

"  I  don't  hear  anybody  in  the  house,"  said  one  of  the 
children  to  another.  "  The  monkey  won't  pick  up  any- 
thing here." 

"  There  is  somebody  at  home,"  ajfirmed  the  urchin  on 
the  threshold.     "  I  heard  a  step  !  " 

Still  the  young  ItaHan's  eye  turned  sidelong  upward ; 
and  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  touch  of  genuine,  though 
slight  and  almost  playful,  emotion  communicated  a  juicier 
sweetness  to  the  dry,  mechanical  process  of  his  min- 
strelsy.    These  wanderers  are  readily  responsive  to  any 


332   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

natural  kindness  —  be  it  no  more  than  a  smile,  or  a  word, 
itself  not  understood,  but  only  a  warmth  in  it  —  -which 
befalls  them  on  the  roadside  of  hfe.  They  remember 
these  things,  because  they  are  the  little  enchantments 
which,  for  the  instant,  —  for  the  space  that  reflects  a 
landscape  in  a  soap-bubble,  —  build  up  a  home  about 
them.  Therefore,  the  Itahan  boy  would  not  be  dis- 
couraged by  the  heavy  silence  with  which  the  old  house 
seemed  resolute  to  clog  the  vivacity  of  his  instrmnent. 
He  persisted  in  his  melodious  appeals ;  he  still  looked 
upward,  trusting  that  his  dark,  alien  countenance  would 
soon  be  brightened  by  Phoebe's  sunny  aspect.  Neither 
could  he  be  wilhug  to  depart  without  again  beholding 
Clifford,  whose  sensibility,  like  Phoebe's  smile,  had  talked 
a  kind  of  heart's  language  to  the  foreigner.  He  repeated 
all  his  music,  over  and  over  again,  until  his  auditors 
were  getting  weary.  So  were  the  httle  wooden  people 
in  his  show-box,  and  the  monkey  most  of  all.  There 
was  no  response,  save  the  singing  of  the  locust. 

"  No  children  live  in  this  house,"  said  a  school-boy,  at 
last.  "  Nobody  lives  here  but  an  old  maid  and  an  old 
man.  You  '11  get  nothing  here !  Why  don't  you  go 
along?" 

"  You  fool,  you,  why  do  you  tell  him  ?  "  whispered  a 
shrewd  httle  Yankee,  caring  nothing  for  the  music,  but 
a  good  -deal  for  the  cheap  rate  at  which  it  was  had. 
"  Let  him  play  as  long  as  he  likes  !  If  there  's  nobody 
to  pay  him,  that 's  his  own  lookout !  " 

Once  more,  however,  the  Italian  ran  over  his  round  of 
melodies.  To  the  common  observer  —  who  could  under- 
stand nothing  of  the  case,  except  the  music  and  the  sun- 
shine on  the  hither  side  of  the  door  —  it  might  have 
been  amusing  to  watch  the  pertinacity  of  the  street-per- 
former.    Will  he  succeed  at  last  ?    Will  that  stubborn 


ALICE'S   POSIES.  333 

door  be  suddenly  flung  open  ?  Will  a  group  of  joyous 
children,  the  young  ones  of  the  house,  come  dancing, 
shouting,  laughing,  into  the  open  air,  and  cluster  round 
the  show-box,  looking  with  eager  merriment  at  the  pup- 
pets, and  tossing  each  a  copper  for  long-tailed  Mammon, 
the  monkey,  to  pick  up  ? 

But,  to  us,  who  know  the  inner  heart  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  as  well  as  its  exterior  face,  there  is  a  ghastly 
effect  in  this  repetition  of  light  popular  tunes  at  its  door- 
step. It  would  be  an  ugly  business,  indeed,  if  Judge 
Pyncheon  (who  would  not  have  cared  a  fig  for  Paganini's 
fiddle,  in  his  most  harmonious  mood)  should  make  his 
appearance  at  the  door,  with  a  bloody  shirt-bosom,  and  a 
grim  frown  on  his  swarthily  wliite  visage,  and  motion  the 
foreign  vagabond  away  !  Was  ever  before  such  a  grind- 
ing out  of  jigs  and  waltzes,  where  nobody  was  in  the 
cue  to  dance  ?  Yes,  very  often.  This  contrast,  or  inter- 
minghng  of  tragedy  with  mirth,  happens  daily,  hourly, 
momently.  The  gloomy  and  desolate  old  house,  deserted 
of  life,  and  with  awful  Death  sitting  sternly  in  its  soli- 
tude, was  the  emblem  of  many  a  human  heart,  which, 
nevertheless,  is  compelled  to  hear  the  thrill  and  echo  of 
the  world's  gayety  around  it. 

Before  the  conclusion  of  the  Italian's  performance,  a 
couple  of  men  happened  to  be  passing,  on  their  way  to 
dmner. 

"  I  say,  you  young  Prench  fellow !  "  called  out  one  of 
them,  —  "  come  away  from  that  doorstep,  and  go  some- 
where else  with  your  nonsense  !  The  Pyncheon  family 
live  there ;  and  they  are  in  great  trouble,  just  about  this 
time.  They  don't  feel  musical  to-day.  It  is  reported, 
all  over  town,  that  Judge  Pyncheon,  who  owns  the  house, 
has  been  murdered ;  and  the  city  marshal  is  going  to  look 
into  the  matter.     So  be  off  with  you,  at  once  ! " 


834   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

As  the  Italian  shouldered  his  hurdy-gurdy,  he  saw  on 
the  doorstep  a  card,  which  had  been  covered,  all  the 
morning,  by  the  newspaper  that  the  carrier  had  flung 
upon  it,  but  was  now  shuffled  into  sight.  He  picked  it 
up,  and  perceiving  something  written  in  pencil,  gave  it 
to  the  man  to  read.  In  fact,  it  was  an  engraved  card  of 
Judge  Pyncheon's,  with  certain  pencilled  memoranda  on 
the  back,  referring  to  various  businesses,  wliich  it  had 
been  his  purpose  to  transact  during  the  preceding  day. 
It  formed  a  prospective  epitome  of  the  day's  history; 
only  that  affairs  had  not  turned  out  altogether  in  accord- 
ance with  the  programme.  The  card  must  have  been 
lost  from  the  Judge's  vest-pocket,  in  his  preUminary  at- 
tempt to  gain  access  by  the  main  entrance  of  the  house. 
Though  well  soaked  with  rain,  it  was  still  partially  legi- 
ble. 

"Look  here,  Dixey ! "  cried  the  man.  "This  has 
something  to  do  with  Judge  Pyncheon.  See! — here's 
his  name  printed  on  it ;  and  here,  I  suppose,  is  some  of 
his  handwriting." 

"  Let's  go  to  the  city  marshal  with  it !  "  said  Dixey. 
"  It  may  give  him  just  the  clew  he  wants.  After  all,"  whis- 
pered he  in  his  companion's  ear,  "  it  would  be  no  wonder 
if  the  Judge  has  gone  into  that  door,  and  never  come  out 
again  !  A  certain  cousin  of  his  may  have  been  at  his  old 
tricks.  And  Old  Maid  Pyncheon  having  got  herself  in 
debt  by  the  cent-shop,  —  and  the  Judge's  pocket-book 
being  well  filled,  —  and  bad  blood  amongst  them  al- 
ready !  ?ut  all  these  things  together,  and  see  what  they 
make ! " 

" Hush,  hush  !  "  whispered  the  other.  "It  seems  hke 
a  sin  to  be  the  first  to  speak  of  such  a  thing.  But  I 
think,  with  you,  that  we  had  better  go  to  the  city 
marshal." 


ALICE'S   POSIES.  335 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  said  Dixey.  "  Well !  —  I  always  said  there 
was  sometiiiiig  devilish  in  that  "woman's  scowl !  " 

The  men  wheeled  about,  accordingly,  and  retraced  their 
steps  up  the  street.  The  Italian,  also,  made  the  best  of 
his  way  off,  "udth  a  parting  glance  up  at  the  arched  win- 
dow. As  for  the  children,  they  took  to  their  heels,  with 
one  accord,  and  scampered  as  if  some  giant  or  ogre  wert 
in  pursuit,  until,  at  a  good  distance  from  the  house,  they 
stopped  as  suddenly  and  simultaneously  as  they  had  set 
out.  Their  susceptible  nerves  took  an  indefinite  alarm 
from  what  they  had  overheard.  Looking  back  at  the 
grotesque  peaks  and  shadowy  angles  of  the  old  mansion, 
they  fancied  a  gloom  diffused  about  it,  which  no  bright- 
ness of  the  sunshine  could  dispel.  An  imaginary  Hep- 
zibah  scowled  and  shook  her  finger  at  them,  from  several 
windows  at  the  same  moment.  An  imaginary  Clifford  — 
for  (and  it  would  have  deeply  wounded  him  to  know  it) 
he  had  always  been  a  horror  to  these  small  people  —  stood 
behind  the  unreal  Hepzibah,  making  awful  gestures,  in  a 
faded  dressing-gown.  Children  are  even  more  apt,  if 
possible,  than  grown  people,  to  catch  the  contagion  of  a 
panic  terror.  Eor  the  rest  of  the  day,  the  more  timid 
went  whole  streets  about,  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  the 
Seven  Gables;  while  the  bolder  signalized  their  hardi- 
hood by  challenging  their  comrades  to  race  past  the  man- 
sion at  full  speed. 

It  could  not  have  been  more  than  half  an  hour  after 
the  disappearance  of  the  Italian  boy,  with  his  unseason- 
able melodies,  when  a  cab  drove  down  the  street.  It 
stopped  beneath  the  Pyncheon  Elm ;  the  cabman  took  a 
trunk,  a  canvas  bag,  and  a  bandbox,  from  the  top  of  his 
vehicle,  and  deposited  them  on  the  doorstep  of  the  old 
house ;  a  straw  bonnet,  and  then  the  pretty  figure  of  a 
young  girl,  came  into  view  from  the  interior  of  the  cab. 


836   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

It  was  Phcebe  !  Though  not  altogether  so  blooming  as 
when  she  first  tripped  into  our  story,  —  for,  in  the  few 
intervening  weeks,  her  experiences  had  made  her  graver, 
more  womanly,  and  deeper-eyed,  in  token  of  a  heart  that 
had  begun  to  suspect  its  depths,  —  still  there  was  the 
quiet  glow  of  natural  sunshine  over  her.  Neither  had 
she  forfeited  her  proper  gift  of  making  things  look  real, 
rather  than  fantastic,  withm  her  sphere.  Yet  we  feel  it 
to  be  a  questionable  venture,  even  for  Phoebe,  at  this 
juncture,  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the  Seven  Gables.  Is 
her  healthful  presence  potent  enough  to  chase  away  the 
crowd  of  pale,  hideous,  and  sinful  phantoms,  that  have 
gained  admittance  there  since  her  departure  ?  Or  will 
she,  likewise,  fade,  sicken,  sadden,  and  grow  into  deform- 
ity, and  be  only  another  pallid  phantom,  to  glide  noise- 
lessly up  and  down  the  stairs,  and  affright  children,  as 
she  pauses  at  the  window  ? 

At  least,  we  would  gladly  forewarn  the  unsuspecting 
girl  that  there  is  nothing  in  human  shape  or  substance  to 
receive  her,  unless  it  be  the  figure  of  Judge  Pyncheon, 
who  —  wretched  spectacle  that  he  is,  and  frightful  in  our 
remembrance,  since  our  night-long  vigil  with  him !  —  still 
keeps  his  place  in  the  oaken  chair. 

Phcebe  first  tried  the  shop-door.  It  did  not  yield  to 
her  hand ;  and  the  white  curtain,  drawn  across  the  win- 
dow which  formed  the  upper  section  of  the  door,  struck 
her  quick  perceptive  faculty  as  something  unusual. 
Without  making  another  effort  to  enter  here,  she  betook 
herself  to  the  great  portal,  under  the  arched  wiudow. 
Finding  it  fastened,  she  knocked.  A  reverberation  came 
from  the  emptiness  within.  She  knocked  again,  and  a 
third  tune ;  and,  listening  intently,  fancied  that  the  floor 
creaked,  as  if  Hepzibah  were  coming,  with  her  ordinary 
tiptoe  movement,  to  admit  her.     But  so  dead  a  silence 


ALICE'S    POSIES.  337 

ensued  upon  this  imaginary  sound,  that  she  began  to 
question  whether  she  might  not  have  mistaken  the  house, 
familiar  as  she  thought  herself  with  its  exterior. 

Her  notice  was  now  attracted  by  a  child's  voice,  at 
some  distance.  It  appeared  to  call  her  name.  Looking 
in  the  direction  whence  it  proceeded,  Phoebe  saw  little 
Ned  Higgins,  a  good  way  down  the  street,  stamping, 
shaking  his  head  violently,  making  deprecatory  gestures 
with  both  hands,  and  shouting  to  her  at  mouth-wide 
screech. 

"  No,  no,  Phoebe  !  "  he  screamed.  "  Don't  you  go  in  ! 
There 's  something  wicked  there  !  Don't  —  don't  —  don't 
go  in ! " 

But,  as  the  httle  personage  could  not  be  induced  to  ap- 
proach near  enough  to  explain  himself,  Phoebe  concluded 
that  he  had  been  frightened,  on  some  of  his  visits  to  the 
shop,  by  her  cousin  Hepzibah  ;  for  the  good  lady's  mani- 
festations, in  truth,  ran  about  an  equal  chance  of  scaring 
children  out  of  their  wits,  or  compelling  them  to  unseemly 
laughter.  Still,  she  felt  the  more,  for  this  incident,  how 
unaccountably  silent  and  impenetrable  the  house  had  be- 
come. As  her  next  resort,  Phoebe  made  her  way  into  the 
garden,  where,  on  so  warm  and  bright  a  day  as  the  pres- 
ent, she  had  Httle  doubt  of  finding  Clifford,  and  perhaps 
Hepzibah  also,  idling  away  the  noontide  in  the  shadow 
of  the  arbor.  Immediately  on  her  entering  the  garden- 
gate,  the  family  of  hens  half  ran,  half  flew,  to  meet  her ; 
while  a  strange  grimalkin,  which  was  prowling  under  the 
parlor  window,  took  to  his  heels,  clambered  hastily  over 
the  fence,  and  vanished.  The  arbor  was  vacant,  and  its 
floor,  table,  and  circular  bench  were  still  damp,  and  be- 
strewn with  twigs,  and  the  disarray  of  the  past  storm. 
The  growth  of  the  garden  seemed  to  have  got  quite  out 
of  bounds ;  the  weeds  had  taken  advantage  of  Phoebe's 


838   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

absence,  and  the  long-continued  rain,  to  rnn  rampant 
over  the  flowers  and  kitchen-vegetables.  Maule's  well 
had  ovei-flowed  its  stone  border,  and  made  a  pool  of  for- 
midable breadth,  in  that  corner  of  the  garden. 

The  impression  of  the  whole  scene  was  that  of  a  spot 
where  no  human  foot  had  left  its  print  for  many  pre- 
ceding days,  —  probably  not  since  Phoebe's  departure,  — 
for  she  saw  a  side-comb  of  her  own  under  tlie  table  of 
the  arbor,  where  it  must  have  fallen  on  the  last  afternoon 
when  she  and  Clifford  sat  there. 

The  girl  knew  that  her  two  relatives  were  capable  of 
far  greater  oddities  than  that  of  shutting  themselves  up 
in  their  old  house,  as  they  appeared  now  to  have  done. 
Nevertheless,  with  indistmct  misgivings  of  something 
amiss,  and  apprehensions  to  which  she  could  not  give 
shape,  she  approached  the  door  that  formed  the  custom- 
ary communication  between  the  house  and  garden.  It 
was  secured  within,  like  the  two  which  she  had  already 
tried.  She  knocked,  however;  and  immediately,  as  if 
the  appHcation  had  been  expected,  the  door  was  drawn 
open,  by  a  considerable  exertion  of  some  unseen  person's 
strength,  not  wide,  but  far  enough  to  afford  her  a  side- 
long entrance.  As  Hepzibah,  in  order  not  to  expose 
herself  to  inspection  from  without,  invariably  opened  a 
door  in  this  manner,  Phoebe  necessarily  concluded  that  it 
was  her  cousin  who  now  admitted  her. 

Without  hesitation,  therefore,  she  stepped  across  the 
threshold,  and  had  no  sooner  entered  than  the  door 
closed  behmd  her. 


XX. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  EDEN. 


HCEBE,  coming  so  suddenly  from  the  sunny  day- 
light, was  altogether  bedimmed  in  such  density 
of  shadow  as  lurked  in  most  of  the  passages  of 
the  old  house.  She  was  not  at  first  aware  by  whom  she 
had  been  admitted.  Before  her  eyes  had  adapted  them- 
selves to  the  obscurity,  a  hand  grasped  her  own,  with  a 
firm  but  gentle  and  warm  pressure,  thus  imparting  a  wel- 
come wiiich  caused  her  heart  to  leap  and  thrill  with  an 
indefinable  shiver  of  enjoyment.  She  felt  herself  drawn 
along,  not  towards  the  parlor,  but  into  a  large  and  un- 
occupied apartment,  which  had  formerly  been  the  grand 
reception-i'oom  of  the  Seven  Gables.  The  sunshine 
came  freely  into  all  the  uncurtained  windows  of  this 
room,  and  fell  upon  the  dusty  floor;  so  that  Phcebe 
now  clearly  saw  —  what,  indeed,  had  been  no  secret, 
after  the  encounter  of  a  warm  hand  with  hers  —  that  it 
was  not  Hepzibah  nor  Clifford,  but  Holgrave,  to  whom 
she  owed  her  reception.  The  subtile,  intuitive  communi- 
cation, or,  rather,  the  vague  and  formless  impression  of 
something  to  be  told,  had  made  her  yield  unresistingly  to 
his  impulse.  Without  taking  away  her  hand,  she  looked 
eagerly  in  his  face,  not  quick  to  forebode  evil,  but  un- 


840   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

avoidably  conscious  that  the  state  of  the  family  had 
changed  since  her  departure,  and  therefore  anxious  for 
an  explanation. 

The  artist  looked  paler  than  ordinary ;  there  was  a 
thoughtful  and  severe  contraction  of  his  forehead,  tracing 
a  deep,  vertical  line  between  the  eyebrows.  His  smile, 
however,  was  full  of  genuine  warmth,  and  had  in  it  a  joy, 
by  far  the  most  vivid  expression  that  Phoebe  had  ever 
witnessed,  shming  out  of  the  New  England  reserve  with 
which  Holgrave  habitually  masked  whatever  lay  near  his 
heart.  It  was  the  look  wherewith  a  man,  brooding  alone 
over  some  fearful  object,  in  a  dreary  forest,  or  ilhmitable 
desert,  would  recognize  the  familiar  aspect  of  his  dearest 
friend,  bringing  up  all  the  peaceful  ideas  that  belong  to 
home,  and  the  gentle  current  of  every-day  affairs.  And 
yet,  as  he  felt  the  necessity  of  responding  to  her  look  of 
inquiry,  the  smile  disappeared. 

"  I  ought  not  to  rejoice  that  you  have  come,  Phoebe," 
said  he.     "  We  meet  at  a  strange  moment !  " 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Why  is 
the  house  so  deserted  ?  Where  are  Hepzibah  and  Clif- 
ford?" 

"  Gone  !  I  cannot  imagine  where  they  are  !  "  an- 
swered Holgrave.     "  We  are  alone  in  the  house  !  " 

"  Hepzibah  and  Clifford  gone  ?  "  cried  Phoebe.  "  It 
is  not  possible  !  And  why  have  you  brought  me  into  this 
room,  instead  of  the  parlor  ?  Ah,  something  terrible  has 
happened  !     I  must  run  and  see  !  " 

"  No,  no,  Phoebe !  "  said  Holgrave,  holding  her  back. 
*'It  is  as  I  have  told  you.  They  are  gone,  and  I  know 
not  whither.  A  terrible  event  has,  indeed,  happened, 
but  not  to  them,  nor,  as  I  undoubtingly  believe,  through 
any  agency  of  theirs.  If  I  read  your  character  rightly, 
Phoebe,"  he  continued,  fixing  his  eyes  on  hers,  with  stem 


THE    FLOWER   OF   EDEN.  341 

anxiety,  intermixed  with  tenderness,  "  gentle  as  you  are, 
and  seeming  to  have  your  sphere  among  common  tilings, 
you  yet  possess  remarkable  strength.  You  have  won- 
derful poise,  and  a  faculty  which,  when  tested,  will  prove 
itself  capable  of  dealmg  with  matters  that  fall  far  out  of 
the  ordinary  rule." 

"  0,  no,  I  am  very  weak  !  "  replied  Phoebe,  trembling. 
"  But  tell  me  what  has  happened !  " 

"  You  are  strong !  "  persisted  Holgrave.  "  You  must 
be  both  strong  and  wise ;  for  I  am  all  astray,  and  need 
your  counsel.  It  may  be  you  can  suggest  the  one  right 
thing  to  do  !  " 

"  Tell  me  !  — tell  me  !  "  said  Phoebe,  all  in  a  tremble. 
"  It  oppresses,  —  it  terrifies  me,  —  this  mystery  !  Any- 
thing else  I  can  bear !  " 

The  artist  hesitated.  Notwithstanding  what  he  had 
just  said,  and  most  sincerely,  in  regard  to  the  self- 
balancing  power  with  which  Phoebe  impressed  him,  it 
still  seemed  almost  wicked  to  bring  the  awful  secret  of 
yesterday  to  her  knowledge.  It  was  like  dragging  a  hid- 
eous shape  of  deatli  into  the  cleanly  and  cheerful  space 
before  a  household  fire,  where  it  would  present  all  the 
uglier  aspect,  amid  the  decorousness  of  everything  about 
it.  Yet  it  could  not  be  concealed  from  her;  she  must 
needs  know  it. 

"  Phoebe,"  said  he,  "  do  you  remember  this  ?  " 

He  put  into  her  hand  a  daguerreotype ;  the  same  that 
he  had  shown  her  at  their  first  interview,  in  the  garden, 
and  which  so  strikingly  brought  out  the  hard  and  relent- 
less traits  of  the  original. 

"  What  has  this  to  do  with  Hepzibah  and  Cliiford  ?  " 
asked  Phoebe,  with  impatient  surprise  that  Holgrave 
should  so  trifle  with  her,  at  such  a  moment.  "It  is 
Judge  Pyncheon !     You  have  shown  it  to  me  before !  " 


842   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

"But  here  is  the  same  face,  taken  T^dthin  tMs  half- 
hour,"  said  the  artist,  presenting  her  with  another  min- 
iature. "  1  had  just  finished  it,  when  I  heard  you  at  the 
door," 

"  This  is  death  ! "  shuddered  Phoebe,  turnmg  very  pale. 
**  Judge  Pyncheon  dead  !  " 

"  Such  as  there  represented,"  said  Holgrave,  "  he  sits 
in  the  next  room.  The  Judge  is  dead,  and  Clifford  and 
Hepzibah  have  vanished !  I  know  no  more.  All  beyond 
is  conjecture.  On  returning  to  my  solitary  cliamber,  last 
evening,  I  noticed  no  light,  either  in  the  parlor,  or  Hep- 
zibah's  room,  or  Clifford's ;  no  stir  nor  footstep  about 
the  house.  This  morning  there  was  the  same  death-like 
quiet.  From  my  window,  I  overheard  the  testimony  of 
a  neighbor,  that  your  relatives  were  seen  leaving  the 
house,  in  the  midst  of  yesterday's  storm.  A  rumor 
reached  me,  too,  of  Judge  Pyncheon  being  missed.  A 
feeling  which  I  cannot  describe  —  an  indefinite  sense  of 
some  catastrophe,  or  consummation  —  impelled  me  to 
make  my  way  into  this  part  of  the  house,  where  I  dis- 
covered what  you  see.  As  a  point  of  evidence  that  may 
be  useful  to  Clifford,  and  also  as  a  memorial  valuable  to 
myself,  —  for,  Phoebe,  there  are  hereditary  reasons  that 
connect  me  strangely  with  that  man's  fate,  —  I  used  the 
means  at  my  disposal  to  preserve  this  pictorial  record  of 
Judge  Pyncheon's  death." 

Even  in  her  agitation,  Phoebe  could  not  help  remark- 
ing the  calmness  of  Holgrave's  demeanor.  He  appeared, 
it  is  true,  to  feel  the  whole  awfulness  of  the  Judge's 
death,  yet  had  received  the  fact  into  his  mmd  without 
any  mixture  of  surprise,  but  as  an  event  preordained, 
happening  inevitably,  and  so  fitting  itself  into  past  occur- 
rences that  it  could  ahnost  have  been  prophesied. 

"  Why  have  you  not  thrown  open  the  doors,  and  called 


THE   FLOWER   OF   EDEN.  343 

in  witnesses  ?  "  inquired  she,  with  a  painful  shudder.  "It 
is  terrible  to  be  here  alone !  " 

"  But  Clifford  !  "  suggested  the  artist.  "  Clifford  and 
Hepzibah  !  We  must  consider  what  is  best  to  be  done 
in  their  behalf.  It  is  a  wretched  fatality,  that  they 
should  have  disappeared!  Their  flight  will  throw  the 
worst  coloring  over  this  event  of  which  it  is  susceptible. 
Yet  how  easy  is  the  explanation,  to  those  who  know 
them !  Bewildered  and  terror-stricken  by  the  similarity 
of  this  death  to  a  former  one,  which  was  attended  with 
such  disastrous  consequences  to  Clifford,  they  have  had  no 
idea  but  of  removing  themselves  from  the  scene.  How 
miserably  unfortunate !  Had  Hepzibah  but  shrieked 
aloud,  —  had  Clifford  flung  wide  the  door,  and  proclaimed 
Judge  Pyncheon's  death,  —  it  would  have  been,  however 
awful  in  itself,  an  event  fruitful  of  good  consequences  to 
them.  As  I  view  it,  it  would  have  gone  far  towards 
obliterating  the  black  stain  on  Clifford's  character." 

"And  how,"  asked  Phcebe,  "could  any  good  come 
from  what  is  so  very  dreadful?" 

"Because,"  said  the  artist,  "if  the  matter  can  be  fairly 
considered,  and  candidly  interpreted,  it  must  be  evident 
that  Judge  Pjncheon  could  not  have  come  unfairly  to  his 
end.  This  mode  of  death  has  been  an  idiosyncrasy  with 
his  family,  for  generations  past;  not  often  occurring, 
indeed,  but,  when  it  does  occur,  usually  attacking  indi- 
viduals about  the  Judge's  time  of  life,  and  generally  in 
the  tension  of  some  mental  crisis,  or,  perhaps,  in  an 
access  of  wrath.  Old  Maule's  prophecy  was  probably 
founded  on  a  knowledge  of  this  physical  predisposition 
in  the  Pyncheon  race.  Now,  there  is  a  minute  and 
almost  exact  similarity  in  the  appearances  connected  with 
the  death  that  occurred  yesterday  and  those  recorded  of 
the  death  of  Clifford's  uncle,  thirty  years  ago.     It  is  true, 


344   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

there  was  a  certain  arrangement  of  circumstances,  un- 
necessary to  be  recounted,  which  made  it  possible  — 
nay,  as  men  look  at  these  things,  probable,  or  even 
certain  —  that  old  Jaffrey  Pyncheon  came  to  a  violent 
death,  and  by  Clifford's  hands." 

"  Whence  came  those  circumstances  ?  "  exclaimed  Phoe- 
be ;  "  he  being  innocent,  as  we  know  him  to  be  !  " 

"They  were  arranged,"  said  Holgrave,  —  "at  least, 
such  has  long  been  my  conviction,  —  they  were  arranged 
after  the  uncle's  death,  and  before  it  was  made  public,  by 
the  man  who  sits  in  yonder  parlor.  His  own  death,  so 
like  that  former  one,  yet  attended  with  none  of  those 
suspicious  circumstances,  seems  the  stroke  of  God  upon 
him,  at  once  a  punishment  for  his  wickedness,  and  mak- 
ing plain  the  innocence  of  Clifford.  But  this  flight,  —  it 
distorts  everything !  He  may  be  in  concealment,  near  at 
hand.  Could  we  but  bring  him  back  before  the  discovery 
of  the  Judge's  death,  the  evil  might  be  rectified." 

"  We  must  not  hide  this  thing  a  moment  longer !  "  said 
Phoebe.  "It  is  dreadful  to  keep  it  so  closely  in  our 
hearts.  Clifford  is  innocent.  God  will  make  it  mani- 
fest !  Let  us  throw  open  the  doors,  and  call  all  the 
neighborhood  to  see  the  truth ! " 

"  You  are  right,  Phcebe,"  rejoined  Holgrave.  " Doubt- 
less you  are  right." 

Yet  the  artist  did  not  feel  the  horror,  which  was  proper 
to  Phoebe's  sweet  and  order-loving  character,  at  thus 
finding  herself  at  issue  with  society,  and  brought  in 
contact  with  an  event  that  transcended  ordinary  rules. 
Neither  was  he  in  haste,  like  her,  to  betake  himself  with- 
in the  precincts  of  common  life.  On  the  contrary,  he 
gathered  a  wild  enjoyment,  —  as  it  were,  a  flower  of 
strange  beauty,  growing  in  a  desolate  spot,  and  blossom- 
ing in  the  wind,  —  such  a  flower  of  momentary  happiness 


THE    FLOWER   OF   EDEN.  345 

he  gathered  from  liis  present  position.  It  separated 
Phoebe  and  himself  from  the  world,  and  bound  them  to 
each  other,  by  their  exclusive  knowledge  of  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon's  mysterious  death,  and  the  counsel  which  they 
were  forced  to  hold  respecting  it.  The  secret,  so  long 
as  it  should  continue  such,  kept  them  within  the  circle 
of  a  spell,  a  solitude  in  the  midst  of  men,  a  remoteness 
as  entire  as  that  of  an  island  in  mid-ocean ;  —  once 
divulged,  the  ocean  would  flow  betwixt  them,  standing 
on  its  widely  sundered  shores.  Meanwhile,  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  their  situation  seemed  to  draw  them  to- 
gether; they  were  like  two  children  who  go  hand  in 
hand,  pressing  closely  to  one  another's  side,  through  a 
shadow-haunted  passage.  The  image  of  awful  Death, 
which  filled  the  house,  held  them  united  by  his  stiffened 
grasp. 

These  influences  hastened  the  development  of  emotions 
that  might  not  otherwise  have  flowered  so  soon.  Possi- 
bly, indeed,  it  had  been  Holgrave's  purpose  to  let  them 
die  in  their  undeveloped  germs. 

"Why  do  we  delay  so  ?  "  asked  Phoebe.  "  This  secret 
takes  away  my  breath  !     Let  us  throw  open  the  doors  !  " 

"  In  all  our  lives,  there  can  never  come  another  mo- 
ment like  this  !  "  said  Holgrave.  "  Phoebe,  is  it  all  ter- 
ror ?  —  nothing  but  terror  ?  Are  you  conscious  of*  no 
joy,  as  I  am,  that  has  made  this  the  only  point  of  life 
worth  living  for?" 

"  It  seems  a  sin,"  replied  Phoebe,  trembling,  "  to  think 
of  joy  at  such  a  time  !  " 

"  Could  you  but  know,  Phoebe,  how  it  was  with  me, 
the  hour  before  you  came  !  "  exclaimed  the  artist.  "A 
dark,  cold,  miserable  hour!  The  presence  of  yonder 
dead  man  threw  a  great  black  shadow  over  everything; 
he  made  the  universe,  so  far  as  my  perception  could 


846   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

reach,  a  scene  of  guilt  and  of  retribution  more  dreadful 
than  the  guilt.  The  sense  of  it  took  away  my  youth. 
I  never  hoped  to  feel  young  again  !  The  world  looked 
*itrange,  wild,  evil,  hostile ;  —  my  past  I'fe,  so  lonesome 
md  dreary  ;  my  future,  a  shapeless  gloom,  which  I  must 
mould  into  gloomy  shapes  !  But,  Phoebe,  you  crossed 
the  threshold ;  and  hope,  warmth,  and  joy  cair.e  in  with 
you !  The  black  moment  became  at  once  a  blissful  one. 
It  must  not  pass  without  the  spoken  word.   I  love  you  !  '* 

"  How  can  you  love  a  simple  girl  like  me  ?  "  asked 
Phoebe,  compelled  by  his  earnestness  to  speak.  "You 
have  many,  many  thoughts,  with  which  I  should  try  in 
vain  to  sympathize.  And  I,  — I,  too,  —  I  have  tenden- 
cies with  which  you  would  sympathize  as  little.  That  is 
less  matter.  But  I  have  not  scope  enough  to  make  you 
happy." 

"  You  are  my  only  possibility  of  happiness !  "  answered 
Holgrave.  "  I  have  no  faith  in  it,  except  as  you  bestow 
it  on  me  !  " 

"  And  then  —  I  am  afraid  !  "  continued  Phoebe,  shrink- 
ing towards  Holgrave,  even  while  she  told  him  so  frankly 
the  doubts  with  which  he  affected  her.  "  You  will  lead 
me  out  of  my  own  quiet  path.  You  will  make  me  strive 
to  follow  you,  where  it  is  pathless.  I  cannot  do  so.  It 
is  not  my  nature.     I  shall  sink  down  and  perish  !  " 

"  Ah,  Plioebe !  "  exclaimed  Holgrave,  with  almost  a 
sigh,  and  a  smile  that  was  burdened  with  thought.  "  It 
will  be  far  otherwise  than  as  you  forebode.  The  world 
owes  all  its  onward  impulses  to  men  ill  at  ease.  The 
happy  man  inevitably  confines  himself  within  ancient 
limits.  I  have  a  presentiment  that,  hereafter,  it  will  be 
my  lot  to  set  out  trees,  to  make  fences,  —  perhaps,  even, 
in  due  time,  to  build  a  house  for  another  generation,  — 
in  a  word,  to  conform  myself  to  laws,  and  the  peaceful 


THE    FLOWER   OF   EDEN.  347 

practice  of  society.  Your  poise  will  be  more  powerful 
than  any  oscillating  tendency  of  mine." 

"  1  would  not  have  it  so  !  "  said  Phoebe,  earnestly. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  asked  Holgrave.  "  If  we  love 
one  another,  the  moment  has  room  for  nothmg  more. 
Let  us  pause  upon  it,  and  be  satisfied.  Do  you  love 
me,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  You  look  into  my  heart,"  said  she,  lettmg  her  eyes 
drop.     "  You  know  I  love  you  !  " 

And  it  was  in  this  hour,  so  full  of  doubt  and  awe,  that 
the  one  miracle  was  wrought,  without  which  every  human 
existence  is  a  blank.  The  bliss  which  makes  ail  things 
true,  beautiful,  and  holy  shone  around  this  youth  and 
majden.  They  were  conscious  of  nothing  sad  nor  old. 
They  transfigured  the  earth,  and  made  it  Eden  again,  and 
themselves  the  two  first  dwellers  in  it.  The  dead  man, 
so  close  beside  them,  was  forgotten.  At  such  a  crisis, 
there  is  no  death  ;  for  immortality  is  revealed  anew,  and 
embraces  everything  in  its  hallowed  atmosphere. 

But  how  soon  the  heavy  earth-dream  settled  down 
again ! 

"  Hark  !  "  whispered  Phoebe.  "  Somebody  is  at  the 
street-door  ! " 

"  Now  let  us  meet  the  world  !  "  said  Holgrave.  "  No 
doubt,  the  rumor  of  Judge  Pyncheon's  visit  to  this 
house,  and  the  flight  of  Hepzibah  and  Clifford,  is  about 
to  lead  to  the  investigation  of  the  premises.  We  have 
no  way  but  to  meet  it.  Let  us  open  the,  door  at 
once." 

But,  to  their  surprise,  before  they  could  reach  the 
street-door,  —  even  before  they  quitted  the  room  in  which 
the  foregoing  interview  had  passed,  —  they  heard  foot- 
steps in  the  farther  passage.  The  door,  therefore,  which 
they  supposed  to  be  securelv  locked,  —  which  Holgrave, 


648   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

indeed,  had  seen  to  be  so,  and  at  wliich  Phoebe  had  vainly 
tried  to  enter,  —  must  have  been  opened  from  without. 
The  sound  of  footsteps  was  not  harsh,  bold,  decided,  and 
intrusive,  as  the  gait  of  strangers  would  naturally  be, 
making  authoritative  entrance  into  a  dwelling  where  they 
knew  themselves  unwelcome.  It  was  feeble,  as  of  per- 
sons either  weak  or  weary  ;  there  was  the  mmgled  mur- 
mur of  two  voices,  familiar  to  both  the  listeners. 

"  Can  it  be  ?  "  whispered  Holgrave, 

"  It  is  they !  "  answered  Phoebe.  ''  Thank  God !  — 
thank  God ! " 

And  then,  as  if  in  sympathy  with  Phoebe's  whis- 
pered ejaculation,  they  heard  Hepzibah's  voice,  more 
distinctly. 

"  Thank  God,  my  brother,  we  are  at  home  !  " 

"WeU!  — Yes!— thank  God!"  responded  Clifford. 
**  A  dreary  home,  Hepzibah  !  But  you  have  done  well 
to  brmg  me  hither  !  Stay  !  That  parlor-door  is  open.  I 
cannot  pass  by  it !  Let  me  go  and  rest  me  in  the  arbor, 
where  I  used,  —  O,  very  long  ago,  it  seems  to  me,  after 
M'hat  has  befallen  us,  —  where  I  used  to  be  so  happy  with 
little  Phoebe!" 

But  the  house  was  not  altogether  so  dreary  as  Clifford 
imagined  it.  They  bad  not  made  many  steps,  —  in  truth, 
they  were  hngering  in  the  entry,  with  the  listnessness  of 
'jsh  accomplished  purpose,  uncertain  what  to  do  next,  — 
when  Phoebe  ran  to  meet  them.  On  beholding  her,  Hep- 
zibah burst  into  tears.  With  all  her  might,  she  had 
staggered  onward  beneath  the  burden  of  grief  and  re- 
sponsibility, until  now  that  it  was  safe  to  fling  it  down. 
Indeed,  she  had  not  energy  to  fling  it  down,  but  had 
ceased  to  uphold  it,  and  suffered  it  to  press  her  to  the 
earth.     Clifford  appeared  the  stronger  of  the  two. 

^  It  is  our  own  httle  Phoebe !  —  Ah !  and  Holgrave 


THE   FLOWER   OF   EDEN. 


349 


with  her/'  exclaimed  he,  with  a  glance  of  keen  and  deli- 
cate insight,  and  a  smile,  beautiful,  kind,  but  melancholy. 
"1  thought  of  you  both,  as  we  came  down  the  street, 
and  beheld  Alice's  Posies  in  full  bloom.  And  so  the 
flower  of  Eden  has  bloomed,  likewise,  in  this  old,  dark- 
some house  to-day.'* 


li^f^'S?*^ 


-U*'    :-^i^^-^A 

a^ 

^/iTJ^y^  _>.- 

lV^#^-®>^^ 

—  m^^  '&.  ^ 

:U^m^^^^^:u\^ 

y» 

^?^^^  V»>\  - 

.v--i; 

ASIvS^^'A 

XXI. 


THE  DEPARTITRE. 


HE  sudden  death  of  so  promment  a  memlDer  of 
the  social  world  as  the  Honorable  Judge  Jaffrey 
Pyncheon  created  a  sensation  (at  least,  in  the 
circles  more  immediately  connected  with  the  deceased) 
which  had  hardly  quite  subsided  in  a  fortnight. 

It  may  be  remarked,  however,  that,  of  all  the  events 
which  constitute  a  person's  biography,  there  is  scarcely 
one  —  none,  certainly,  of  anything  like  a  similar  impor- 
tance —  to  which  the  'world  so  easily  reconciles  itself  as 
to  bis  death.  In  most  other  cases  and  contingencies, 
the  indi^adual  is  present  among  us,  mixed  up  with  the 
daily  revolution  of  affairs,  and  affording  a  definite  point 
for  observation.  At  liis  decease,  there  is  only  a  vacancy, 
and  a  momentary  eddy,  —  very  small,  as  compared  with 
the  apparent  magnitude  of  the  ingurgitated  object, — 
and  a  bubble  or  two,  ascending  out  of  the  black  depth, 
and  bursting  at  the  surface.  As  regarded  Judge  P}ti- 
cheon,  it  seemed  probable,  at  first  blush,  that  the  mode 
of  his  final  departure  might  give  him  a  larger  and  longer 
posthumous  vogue  than  ordinarily  attends  the  memory 
of  a  distinguished  man.  But  when  it  came  to  be  under- 
stood, on  the  highest  professional  authority,  that  the 


THE  DEPAETUEB. 


351 


event  was  a  natural,  and  — except  for  some  unimportant 
particulars,  denoting  a  sHght  idiosyncrasy  —  by  no  means 
an  unusual  form  of  death,  the  public,  with  its  customary 
alacrity,  proceeded  to  forget  that  he  had  ever  lived.  In 
short,  the  honorable  Judge  was  beginning  to  be  a  stale 
subject,  before  half  the  county  newspapers  had  found 
time  to  put  their  columns  in  mourning,  and  pubhsh  his 
exceedingly  eulogistic  obituary. 

Nevertheless,  creeping  darkly  through  the  places  which 
this  excellent  person  had  haunted  in  his  lifethne,  there 
was  a  hidden  stream  of  private  talk,  such  as  it  would 
have  shocked  aU  decency  to  speak  loudly  at  the  street- 
comers.     It  is  very  singular,  how  the  fact  of  a  man's 
death  often  seems  to  give  people  a  truer  idea  of  his  char- 
acter,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  than  they  have  ever 
possessed  whHe  he  was  hving  and  acthig  among  them. 
Death  is  so  genuine  a  fact  that  it  excludes  falsehood,  or 
betrays  its  emptiness ;  it  is  a  touchstone  that  proves  the 
gold,  and  dishonors  the  baser  metal.     Could  the  d& 
parted,  whoever  he  may  be,  return  in  a  week  after  his 
decease,  he  would  almost  invariably  find  himself  at  a 
higher  or  lower  point  than  he  had  formerly  occupied,  on 
the  scale  of  pubhc  appreciation.     But  the  talk,  or  scan- 
dal, to  which  we  now  allude,  had  reference  to  matters  of 
no 'less  old  a  date  than  the  supposed  murder,  thirty  or 
forty  years  ago,  of  the  late  Judge  Pyncheon's  uncle. 
The  medical  opinion,  with  regard  to  his  own  recent  and 
regretted  decease,  had  almost  entirely  obviated  the  idea 
that  a  murder  was  committed,  in  the  former  case.     Yet, 
as  the  record  showed,  there  were  circumstances  irrefraga- 
bly  indicating  that  some  person  had  gained  access  to  old 
JaflPrey  Pyncheon's  private  apartments,  at  or  near  the 
moment  of  his  death.     His  desk  and  private  drawers,  in 
a  room  contiguous  to  his  bedchamber,  had  been  ran-. 


352   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

sacked ;  money  and  valuable  articles  were  missing ;  there 
was  a  bloody  hand-print  on  the  old  man's  linen;  and, 
by  a  powerfully  welded  chain  of  deductive  evidence,  the 
guilt  of  the  robbery  and  apparent  murder  had  been  fixed 
on  Clifford,  then  residing  with  his  uncle  in  the  House  of 
the  Seven  Gables. 

"Whencesoever  originating,  there  now  arose  a  theory 
that  undertook  so  to  account  for  these  circumstances  as 
to  exclude  the  idea  of  Clifford's  agency.  Many  persons 
affirmed  that  the  history  and  elucidation  of  the  facts,  long 
so  mysterious,  had  been  obtained  by  the  daguerreotypist 
from  one  of  those  mesmerical  seers,  who,  nowadays,  so 
strangely  perplex  the  aspect  of  human  affairs,  and  put 
everybody's  natural  vision  to  the  blush,  by  the  marvels 
which  they  see  with  their  eyes  shut. 

According  to  this  version  of  the  story.  Judge  Pyncheon, 
exemplary  as  we  have  portrayed  him  in  our  narrative, 
was,  in  his  youth,  an  apparently  irreclaimable  scapegrace. 
The  brutish,  the  animal  instincts,  as  is  often  the  case, 
had  been  developed  earlier  than  the  intellectual  qualities, 
and  the  force  of  character,  for  which  he  was  afterwards 
remarkable.  He  had  shown  himself  wild,  dissipated, 
addicted  to  low  pleasures,  Httle  short  of  ruffianly  in  his 
propensities,  and  recklessly  expensive,  with  no  other  re- 
sources than  the  bounty  of  his  uncle.  This  course  of 
conduct  had  alienated  the  old  bachelor's  affection,  once 
strongly  fixed  upon  him.  Now  it  is  averred,  —  but 
whether  on  authority  available  in  a  court  of  justice,  we 
do  not  pretend  to  have  investigated, — that  the  young 
man  was  tempted  by  the  devil,  one  night,  to  search  his 
uncle's  private  drawers,  to  which  he  had  unsuspected 
means  of  access.  While  tlms  criminally  occupied,  he 
was  startled  by  the  opening  of  the  chamber-door.  There 
Btood  old  Jaffrey  Pyncheon,  in  his  nightclothes !   The  sur- 


THE   DEPARTURE.  353 

prise  of  such  a  discovery,  his  agitation,  alarm,  and  hor- 
ror, brought  on  the  crisis  of  a  disorder  to  which  the  old 
bachelor  had  an  hereditary  hability  ;  he  seemed  to  choke 
with  blood,  and  fell  upon  the  floor,  striking  his  temple 
a  heavy  blow  against  the  corner  of  a  table.  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  The  old  man  was  surely  dead  !  Assistance 
would  come  too  late  !  What  a  misfortune,  indeed,  should 
it  come  too  soon,  since  his  reviving  consciousness  would 
bring  the  recollection  of  the  ignomuiious  offence  which 
he  had  beheld  his  nephew  in  the  very  act  of  committing  ! 
But  he  never  did  revive.  With  the  cool  hardihood 
that  always  pertained  to  him,  the  young  man  continued 
his  search  of  the  drawers,  and  found  a  will,  of  recent  date, 
in  favor  of  Clifford,  —  which  he  destroyed,  —  and  an 
older  one,  in  his  own  favor,  which  he  suffered  to  remain. 
But  before  retiring,  Jaffrey  bethought  himself  of  the  evi- 
dence, in  these  ransacked  drawers,  that  some  one  had 
visited  the  chamber  with  sinister  purposes.  Suspicion, 
unless  averted,  might  fix  upon  the  real  offender.  In  the 
very  presence  of  the  dead  man,  therefore,  he  laid  a 
scheme  that  should  free  himself  at  the  expense  of  Clifford, 
his  rival,  for  whose  character  he  had  at  once  a  contempt 
and  a  repugnance.  It  is  not  probable,  be  it  said,  that 
he  acted  with  any  set  purpose  of  involving  Clifford  in  a 
charge  of  murder.  Knowing  that  his  uncle  did  not  die 
by  violence,  it  may  not  have  occurred  to  him,  in  the  hur- 
ry of  the  crisis,  that  such  an  inference  might  be  drawn. 
But,  when  the  affair  took  this  darker  aspect,  Jaffrey's 
previous  steps  had  already  pledged  him  to  those  which 
remained.  So  craftily  had  he  arranged  the  circumstances, 
that,  at  Clifford's  trial,  his  cousin  hardly  found  it  neces- 
sary to  swear  to  anything  false,  but  only  to  withhold  the 
one  decisive  explanation,  by  refraining  to  state  what  he 
had  himself  done  and  witnessed. 


854   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Thus  Jaffii'ey  Pynclieon's  inward  criminality,  as  regard, 
ed  Cliiford,  was,  indeed,  black  and  damnable;  while  its 
mere  outward  show  and  positive  commission  was  the 
smallest  that  could  possibly  consist  with  so  great  a  sin. 
This  is  just  the  sort  of  guilt  that  a  man  of  eminent  re- 
spectability finds  it  easiest  to  dispose  of.  It  was  suffered 
to  fade  out  of  sight  or  be  reckoned  a  venial  matter,  in 
the  Honorable  Judge  Pyncheon's  long  subsequent  survey 
of  his  own  Ufe.  He  shuffled  it  aside,  among  the  forgot- 
ten and  forgiven  frailties  of  his  youth,  and  seldom  thought 
of  it  agam. 

We  leave  the  Judge  to  his  repose.  He  could  not  be 
styled  fortunate,  at  the  hour  of  death.  Unknowingly, 
he  was  a  childless  man,  while  striving  to  add  more 
wealth  to  his  only  child's  inheritance.  Hardly  a  week 
after  his  decease,  one  of  the  Cunard  steamers  brought 
intelHgence  of  the  death,  by  cholera,  of  Judge  Pyn- 
cheon's son,  just  at  the  pomt  of  embarkation  for  his  na- 
tive land.  By  this  misfortune,  Clifford  became  rich ;  so 
did  Hepzibah;  so  did  our  little  village  maiden,  and, 
through  her,  that  sworn  foe  of  wealth  and  all  manner  of 
conservatism,  —  the  wild  reformer,  —  Holgrave  ! 

It  was  now  far  too  late  in  Clifford's  hfe  for  the  good 
opinion  of  society  to  be  worth  the  trouble  and  anguish  of 
a  formal  vindication.  What  he  needed  was  the  love  of  a 
very  few  ;  not  the  admiration,  or  even  the  respect,  of  the 
unknown  many.  The  latter  might  probably  have  been 
won  for  him,  had  those  on  whom  the  guardianship  of  his 
welfare  had  fallen  deemed  it  advisable  to  expose  Clifford 
to  a  miserable  resuscitation  of  past  ideas,  when  the  con- 
dition of  whatever  comfort  he  might  expect  lay  in  the 
calm  of  forgetfulness.  After  such  wrong  as  he  had  suf- 
fered, there  is  no  reparation.  The  pitiable  mockery  of 
it,  which  the  world  might  have  been  ready  enough  to 


THE   DEPARTURE.  355 

offer,  coming  so  long  after  the  agony  had  done  its  utmost 
work,  would  have  been  fit  only  to  provoke  bitterer  laugh- 
ter  than  poor  Cliiford  was  ever  capable  of.  It  is  a  truth 
(and  it  would  be  a  very  sad  one,  but  for  the  higher  hopes 
which  it  suggests)  that  no  great  mistake,  whether  acted 
or  endured,  in  our  mortal  sphere,  is  ever  really  set  right. 
Time,  the  continual  vicissitude  of  circumstances,  and  the 
invariable  inopportunity  of  death,  render  it  impossible. 
If,  after  long  lapse  of  years,  the  right  seems  to  be  in  our 
power,  we  find  no  niche  to  set  it  in.  The  better  remedy 
is  for  the  sufferer  to  pass  on,  and  leave  what  he  once 
thought  his  irreparable  ruin  far  behind  him. 

The  shock  of  Judge  Pyncheon's  death  had  a  perma- 
nently  invigorating  and  ultimately  beneficial  effect  on 
Clifford.  That  strong  and  ponderous  man  had  been 
Chfford's  nightmare.  There  was  no  free  breath  to  be 
drawn,  within  the  sphere  of  so  malevolent  an  influence. 
The  first  effect  of  freedom,  as  we  have  witnessed  in  Clif- 
ford's aimless  flight,  was  a  tremulous  exhilaration.  Sub- 
siding from  it,  he  did  not  sink  into  his  former  intellectual 
apathy.  He  never,  it  is  true,  attained  to  nearly  the  full 
measure  of  what  might  have  been  his  faculties.  But  he 
recovered  enough  of  them  partially  to  light  up  his  char- 
acter,  to  display  some  outline  of  the  marvellous  grace 
that  was  abortive  in  it,  and  to  make  him  the  object  of  no 
less  deep,  although  less  melancholy  interest  than  hereto- 
fore. He  was  evidently  happy.  Could  we  pause  to  give 
another  picture  of  his  daily  life,  with  all  the  appliances 
now  at  command  to  gratify  his  mstinct  for  the  Beautiful, 
the  garden  scenes,  that  seemed  so  sweet  to  him,  would 
look  mean  and  trivial  in  comparison. 

Very  soon  after  their  change  of  fortune,  Clifford,  Hep- 
zibah,  and  httle  Phoebe,  with  the  approval  of  the  artist, 
concluded  to  remove  from  the  di=^al  old  House  of  the 


356   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Seven  Gables,  and  take  up  their  abode,  for  the  present, 
at  the  elegant  country-seat  of  the  late  Judge  Pyncheon. 
Chanticleer  and  his  family  had  already  been  transported 
thither,  where  the  two  hens  had  forthwith  begun  an  inde- 
fatigable process  of  egg-laying,  with  an  evident  design, 
as  a  matter  of  duty  and  conscience,  to  continue  their  il- 
lustrious breed  under  better  auspices  than  for  a  century 
past.  On  the  day  set  for  their  departure,  the  principal 
personages  of  our  story,  including  good  Uncle  Yenner, 
were  assembled  in  the  parlor. 

"  The  couutry-house  is  certainly  a  very  fine  one,  so 
far  as  the  plan  goes,"  observed  Holgrave,  as  the  party 
were  discussing  their  future  arrangements.  "But  I 
wonder  that  the  late  Judge  —  being  so  opulent,  and  with 
a  reasonable  prospect  of  transmitting  his  wealth  to  de- 
scendants of  his  own  —  should  not  have  felt  the  propri- 
ety of  embodying  so  excellent  a  piece  of  domestic  archi- 
tecture in  stoue,  rather  than  in  wood.  Then,  every 
generation  of  the  family  might  have  altered  the  interior, 
to  suit  its  own  taste  and  convenience  ;  while  the  exterior, 
through  the  lapse  of  years,  might  have  been  adding  ven- 
erableness  to  its  original  beauty,  and  thus  givuig  that 
impression  of  permanence  which  I  consider  essential  to 
the  happiness  of  any  one  moment." 

"Why,"  cried  Phcebe,  gazing  into  the  artist's  face 
with  infinite  amazement,  "  how  wonderfully  your  ideas 
are  changed  !  A  house  of  stone,  indeed  !  It  is  but  two 
or  three  weeks  ago,  that  you  seemed  to  wish  people  to 
live  in  something  as  fragile  and  temporary  as  a  bird's 
nest ! " 

"  Ah,  Phoebe,  I  told  you  how  it  would  be  !  "  said  the 
artist,  with  a  half-melancholy  laugh.  "  You  find  me  a 
conservative  already  !  Little  did  I  think  ever  to  be- 
come one.     It  is  especially  unpardonable  in  this  dwelling 


THE    DEPARTUEE.  357 

of  SO  much  hereditary  misfortune,  and  under  the  eye  of 
yonder  portrait  of  a  model  conservative,  who,  in  that 
very  character,  rendered  himself  so  long  the  evil  destiny 
of  his  race." 

"  That  picture ! "  said  Cliiford,  seeming  to  shrink 
from  its  stern  glance.  "  Whenever  I  look  at  it,  there  is 
an  old,  dreamy  recollection  haunting  me,  but  keepmg 
just  beyond  the  grasp  of  my  mind.  Wealth,  it  seems  to 
say  !  —  boundless  wealth  !  —  unimaginable  wealth  !  I 
could  fancy  that,  when  I  was  a  child,  or  a  youth,  that 
portrait  had  spoken,  and  told  me  a  rich  secret,  or  had 
held  forth  its  hand,  with  the  written  record  of  hidden 
opulence.  But  those  old  matters  are  so  dim  with  me, 
nowadays  !     What  could  this  dream  have  been  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  can  recall  it,"  answerd  Holgrave.  "  See  ! 
There  are  a  hundred  chances  to  one,  that  no  person, 
unacquainted  with  the  secret,  would  ever  touch  this 
spring." 

"  A  secret  spring  !  "  cried  Clifford.  "  Ah,  I  remem- 
ber now!  I  did  discover  it,  one  summer  afternoon, 
when  I  was  idlmg  and  dreaming  about  the  house,  long, 
long  ago.     But  the  mystery  escapes  me." 

The  artist  put  his  finger  on  the  contrivance  to  which 
he  had  referred.  In  former  days,  the  effect  would  prob- 
ably have  been  to  cause  the  picture  to  start  forward. 
But,  in  so  long  a  period  of  concealment,  the  machinery 
had  been  eaten  through  with  rust ;  so  that  at  Holgrave's 
pressure,  the  portrait,  frame  and  all,  tumbled  suddenly 
from  its  position,  and  lay  face  downward  on  the  floor. 
A  recess  in  the  wall  was  thus  brought  to  light,  in  which 
lay  an  object  so  covered  with  a  century's  dust  that  it 
could  not  immediately  be  recognized  as  a  folded  sheet  of 
parchment.  Holgrave  opened  it,  and  displayed  an  an- 
cient deed,   signed  with  the  hieroglyphics  of   several 


358   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

Indian  sagamores,  and  conveying  to  Colonel  Pyncheon 
and  his  heirs,  forever,  a  vast  extent  of  territory  at  the 
Eastward. 

"  This  is  the  very  parchment  the  attempt  to  recover 
which  cost  the  beautiful  Ahce  Pyncheon  her  happiness 
and  life,"  said  the  artist,  alluding  to  his  legend.  "  It  is 
what  the  Pyncheons  sought  in  vain,  while  it  was  valuable ; 
and  now  that  they  find  the  treasure,  it  has  long  been 
worthless." 

"  Poor  Cousin  JafPrey !  This  is  what  deceived  him,'* 
exclaimed  Hepzibah.  "  When  they  were  young  together, 
Clifford  probably  made  a  kind  of  fairy-tale  of  this  dis- 
covery. He  was  always  dreaming  hither  and  thither 
about  the  house,  and  lighting  up  its  dark  corners  with 
beautiful  stories.  And  poor  Jaffrey,  who  took  hold  of 
everything  as  if  it  were  real,  thought  my  brother  had 
found  out  his  uncle's  wealth.  He  died  with  this  delu- 
sion in  his  mind  !  " 

"But,"  said  Phoebe,  apart  to  Holgrave,  "how  came 
you  to  know  the  secret  ?  " 

"My  dearest  Phoebe,"  said  Holgrave,  "how  will  it 
please  you  to  assume  the  name  of  Maule  ?  As  for  the 
secret,  it  is  the  only  inheritance  that  has  come  down  to 
me  from  my  ancestors.  You  should  have  known  sooner 
(only  that  I  was  afraid  of  fi'ightening  you  away)  that, 
in  this  long  drama  of  wrong  and  retribution,  I  represent 
the  old  wizard,  and  am  probably  as  much  of  a  wizard 
as  ever  he  was.  The  son  of  the  executed  Matthew 
Maule,  while  building  this  house,  took  the  opportunity 
to  construct  that  recess,  and  hide  away  the  Indian  deed, 
on  which  depended  the  immense  land-claim  of  the  Pyn- 
cheons. Thus  they  bartered  their  Eastern  territory  for 
Maule's  garden-ground." 

"And  now,"  said  Uncle  Tenner,  "I  suppose  their 


THE    DEPARTUEE.  359 

whole  claim  is  not  worth  one  man's  share  in  my  farm 
yonder ! " 

"Uncle  Venner,"  cried  Phoebe,  taking  the  patched 
philosopher's  hand,  "you  must  never  talk  any  more 
about  your  farm  !  You  shall  never  go  there,  as  long 
as  you  live  !  There  is  a  cottage  in  our  new  garden,  — 
the  prettiest  little  yellowish-brown  cottage  you  ever 
saw;  and  the  sweetest-looking  place,  for  it  looks  just 
as  if  it  were  made  of  gingerbread,  —  and  we  are  going 
to  fit  it  up  and  furnish  it,  on  purpose  for  you.  And  you 
shall  do  notliing  but  what  you  choose,  and  shall  be  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and  shall  keep  Cousin  CKfford 
in  spirits  with  the  wisdom  and  pleasantness  which  is 
always  dropping  from  your  hps  !  " 

"  Ah !  my  dear  child,"  quoth  good  Uncle  Venner,  quite 
overcome,  "  if  you  were  to  speak  to  a  young  man  as  you 
do  to  an  old  one,  his  chance  of  keeping  his  heart  another 
minute  would  not  be  worth  one  of  the  buttons  on  my 
waistcoat !  And  —  soul  alive  !  —  that  great  sigh,  which 
70U  made  me  heave,  has  burst  off  the  very  last  of  them  ! 
But,  never  mind !  It  was  the  happiest  sigh  I  ever  did 
heave ;  and  it  seems  as  if  I  must  have  drawn  in  a  gulp 
of  neavenly  breath,  to  make  it  with.  Well,  well.  Miss 
Phcebe !  They  '11  miss  me  in  the  gardens,  hereabouts, 
and  round  by  the  back  doors;  and  Pyncheon  Street, 
I  'm  airaid,  will  hardly  look  the  same  without  old  Uncle 
Vennen  who  remembers  it  with  a  mowing  field  on  one 
side,  and  the  garden  of  the  Seven  Gables  on  the  other. 
But  either  I  must  go  to  your  country-seat,  or  you  must 
come  to  my  farm,  —  that 's  one  of  two  things  certain  ; 
and  I  leave  you  to  choose  which ! " 

"  0,  come  with  us,  by  all  means,  Uncle  Venner ! " 
said  Chfford,  who  had  a  remarkable  enjoyment  of  the 
old  man's  mellow,  quiet,  and  simple  spirit      "  I  want 


860   THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

you  always  to  be  within  five  minutes'  saunter  of  my 
chair.  You  are  the  only  philosopher  I  ever  knew  of, 
whose  wisdom  has  not  a  drop  of  bitter  essence  at  the 
bottom ! " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  cried  Uncle  Venner,  beginning  partly  to 
realize  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  "And  yet  folks 
used  to  set  me  down  among  the  simple  ones,  in  my 
younger  days !  But  I  suppose  I  am  like  a  Roxbury 
russet,  —  a  great  deal  the  better,  the  longer  I  can  be 
kept.  Yes ;  and  my  words  of  wisdom,  that  you  and 
Phoebe  tell  me  of,  are  like  the  golden  dandehons,  which 
never  grow  in  the  hot  months,  but  may  be  seen  glis- 
tening among  the  withered  grass,  and  under  the  dry 
leaves,  sometimes  as  late  as  December.  And  you  are 
welcome,  friends,  to  my  mess  of  dandelions,  if  there 
were  twice  as  many  !  " 

A  plain,  but  handsome,  dark-green  barouche  had  now 
drawn  up  in  front  of  the  ruinous  portal  of  the  old  man- 
sion-house. The  party  came  forth,  and  (with  the  excep- 
tion of  good  Uncle  Venner,  who  was  to  follow  in  a  few 
days)  proceeded  to  take  their  places.  They  were  chatting 
and  laughing  very  pleasantly  together  ;  and  —  as  proves 
to  be  often  the  case,  at  moments  when  we  ought  to  pal- 
pitate with  sensibility  —  Clifi'ord  and  Hepzibah  bade  a 
final  farewell  to  the  abode  of  their  forefathers,  with  hardly 
more  emotion  than  if  they  had  made  it  their  arrangement 
to  return  thither  at  tea-time.  Several  children  were 
drawn  to  the  spot  by  so  unusual  a  spectacle  as  the  ba- 
rouche and  pair  of  gray  horses.  Recognizing  little  Ned 
Higgins  among  them,  Hepzibah  put  her  hand  into  her 
pocket,  and  presented  the  urchin,  her  earliest  and  stanch- 
est  customer,  with  silver  enough  to  people  the  Dom- 
daniel  cavern  of  his  interior  with  as  various  a  procession 
of  quadrupeds  as  passed  into  the  ark. 


THE   DEPARTURE.  861 

Two  men  were  passing,  just  as  the  barouche  drove  off. 

"  Well,  Dixey,"  said  one  of  them,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  this  ?  My  wife  kept  a  cent-shop  three  months,  and 
lost  five  dollars  on  her  outlay.  Old  Maid  Pyncheon  has 
been  in  trade  just  about  as  long,  and  rides  off  in  her  car- 
riage with  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand,  —  reckoning 
her  share,  and  Clifford's,  and  Phoebe's,  —  and  some  say 
twice  as  much !  If  you  choose  to  call  it  luck,  it  is  all 
Very  well ;  but  if  we  are  to  take  it  as  the  will  of  Provi- 
dence, why,  I  can't  exactly  fathom  it !  " 

"  Pretty  good  business  !  "  quoth  the  sagacious  Dixey, 
—  "  pretty  good  business  !  " 

Maule's  well,  all  this  time,  though  left  in  solitude,  was 
throwing  up  a  succession  of  kaleidoscopic  pictures,  in 
which  a  gifted  eye  might  have  seen  foreshadowed  the 
coming  fortunes  of  Hepzibah  and  Clifford,  and  the  de- 
scendant of  the  legendary  wizard,  and  the  village  maiden, 
over  whom  he  had  thrown  Love's  web  of  sorcery.  The 
Pyncheon  Elm,  moreover,  with  what  foliage  the  Septem- 
ber gale  had  spared  to  it,  whispered  unintelligible  proph- 
ecies. And  wise  Uncle  Venner,  passing  slowly  from  the 
ruinous  porch,  seemed  to  hear  a  strain  of  music,  and  fan- 
cied that  sweet  Alice  Pyncheon  —  after  witnessing  these 
deeds,  this  bygone  woe,  and  this  present  happiness,  of 
her  kindred  mortals  —  had  given  one  farewell  touch  of  a 
spirit's  joy  upon  her  harpsichord,  as  she  floated  heaven- 
ward from  the  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  ! 


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^otriks  of  jFtctioTi 


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